Vol.  i.,  No.  27.  y^^scrv^Ciorr  ■ 


July  31,  1886. 


, CASSELLS 
* NATIONAL 
| LIBRARY! 

j EDITED  BY 
L PROFESSOR 
mHENRYMORLEW 


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The  Cassell  Publishing  Co., 

31  E.  17th  St.  (Union  Square)* 


= Entered  at  t£e  Post  < ’ffioe^ew  Yoric,  IS.  Y..  as  second-clasq  n7n"  tor.  = 


Copyright  1886,  by  O,  M.  Dunham, 


All  rights  reserved. 


ENGLISH  WRITERS. 

AN  ATTEMPT  HOWARD  A HISTORY  OF 
ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

BY 

HENRY  MORLEY,  LL.  D., 

Prof essor  of  English  Literature  at  University  College , London* 

Large  1 2mo,  extra  cloth,  gilt  top,  price  per  vol» 
time,' $1.50. 


Volumes  already  issued: 

Vol.  I. — From  the  Earliest  Times  to  Beowulf. 

Vol.  II. — From  Caedmon  to  the  Conquest. 

Vol.  III. — From  the  Conquest  to  Chaucer, 

Vol.  IV. — Literature  of  the  Fourteenth  Century,, 
Book  I. 

Vol.  V. — Literature  of  the  Fourteenth  Century* 
Book  II. 

Vol.  VI. — From  Chaucer  to  Caxton. 

Vol.  VII. — From  Caxton  to  Coverdale. 

Vol.  VIII. — From  Surrey  to  Spenser. 

Vol.  IX. — Spenser  and  his  Time. 

Vol.  X. — Shakespeare  and  his  Time. 

Other  Volumes  to  Follow . 


“ Prof.  Morley  is  doing  a great  work,  which,  when  completed,  will 
be  a mine  of  priceless  value  to  the  student  of  English  Literature.”— 
The  Independent. 

“ The  best  of  all  histories  of  English  Literature.”—  Cleveland 
Leader. 

**  A monument  of  patient  research.” — The  Churchman . 

44  Indispensable  to  those  who  wish  to  study  literature,  not  only  in 
sts  original  documents,  but  with  a proper  understanding  of  their  en- 
vironment.”— Boston  Herald. 

“ Prof.  Henry  Morley  is  a . . . scholar  whose  acquirements 

qualify  him  to  speak  with  authority  on  all  questions  of  literary  his- 
eery.”— Book  Buyer . 


NEW  YORK: 

THE  CASSELL  PUBLISHING  CO., 

31  East  17TH  St.  (Union  Square). 


824 

C83 

1886 


COWLEY’S  ESSAYS. 

’Private  Library, 

I —OF... 

H,  G.  PAUL. 

Date 

&G>. 

, = 


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ESSAYS 


ABRAHAM  COWLEY. 


NEW  YORK 

THE  CASSELL  PUBLISHING  CO. 

31  East  17TH  St.  (Union  Square) 


INTRODUCTION. 


~ Abraham  Cowley  was  the  son  of  Thomas  Cowley, 
^ stationer,  and  citizen  of  London  in  the  parish  of  St. 
Michael  le  Queme,  Cheapside.  Thomas  Cowley  signed 
his  will  on  the  24th  of  July,  1618,  and  it  was  proved 
on  the  11th  of  the  next  month  by  his  widow,  Thomasine. 
He  left  six  children,  Peter,  Audrey,  John,  William, 
Katherine,  and  Thomas,  with  a child  unborn  for  whom 
the  will  made  equal  provision  with  the  rest.  The 
seventh  child,  born  before  the  end  of  the  same  year, 
was  named  Abraham,  and  lived  to  take  high  place 
among  the  English  Poets. 

The  calm  spirit  of  Cowley’s  “ Essays  ” was  in  all  his 
life.  As  he  tells  us  in  his  Essay  “ On  Myself,”  even 
when  he  was  a very  young  boy  at  school,  instead  of 
u running  about  on  holidays  and  playing  with  his  fellows, 
he  was  wont  to  steal  from  them  and  walk  into  the 
fields,  either  alone  with  a book  or  with  some  one 
companion,  if  he  could  find  any  of  the  same  temper. 
He  wrote  verse  when  very  young,  and  says,  “ I believe 
, I can  tell  the  particular  little  chance  that  filled  my 
. head  first  with  such  chimes  of  verse  as  have  never  since 
left  ringing  there ; for  I remember  when  I began  to 
read  and  to  take  some  pleasure  in  it,  there  was  wont 
to  lie  in  my  mother’s  parlour  (I  know  not  by  what 
accident,  for  she  herself  never  in  her  life  read  any 
, ' book  but  of  devotion),  but  there  was  wont  to  lie 
. ..  Spenser’s  works.”  The  delight  in  Spenser  wakened 


6 


INTRODUCTION. 


all  the  music  in  him,  and  in  1628,  in  his  tenth  year,  he 
wrote  a “ Tragical  Historie  of  Pyramus  and  Thisbe.” 

In  his  twelfth  year  Cowley  wrote  another  piece,  also 
in  sixteen  stanzas,  with  songs  interspersed,  which  was 
placed  first  in  the  little  volume  of  Poetical  Blossoms , 
by  A.  0.,  published  in  1633.  It  was  a little  quarto 
of  thirty- two  leaves,  with  a portrait  of  the  author,  taken 
at  the  age  of  thirteen.  This  pamphlet,  dedicated  to 
the  Dean  of  Westminster,  and  with  introductory  verses 
by  Cowley  and  two  of  his  schoolfellows,  contained 
44  Constantia  and  Philetus,”  with  the  44  Pyramus  and 
Thisbe,”  written  earlier,  and  three  pieces  written  later, 
namely,  two  Elegies  and  44  A Dream  of  Elysium.”  The 
inscription  round  the  portrait  describes  Cowley  as  a 
King’s  Scholar  of  Westminster  School;  and  44  Pyramus 
and  Thisbe”  has  a special  dedication  to  the  Head 
Master,  Lambert  Osbalston.  As  schoolboy,  Cowley 
tells  us  that  he  read  the  Latin  authors,  but  could  not 
be  made  to  learn  grammar  rules  by  rote.  He  was  a 
candidate  at  his  school  in  1636  for  a scholarship  at 
Cambridge,  but  was  not  elected.  In  that  year,  how- 
ever, he  went  to  Cambridge  and  obtained  a scholarship 
at  Trinity. 

Cowley  carried  to  Cambridge  and  extended  there  his 
reputation  as  boy  poet.  In  1636  the  44  Poetical  Blos- 
soms ” were  re-issued  with  an  appendix  of  sixteen 
more  pieces  under  the  head  of  44  Sylva.”  A third 
edition  of  the  44  Poetical  Blossoms  ” was  printed  in 
1637 — the  year  of  Milton’s  “Lycidas”  and  of  Ben 
Johnson’s  death.  Cowley  had  written  a five -act 
pastoral  comedy,  44  Love’s  Biddle,”  while  yet  at 
school,  and  this  was  published  in  1638.  In  the  same 
year,  1638,  when  Cowley’s  age  was  twenty,  a Latin 
comedy  of  his,  “Kaufragium  Joeulare,”  was  acted  by 
men  of  his  College,  and  in  the  same  year  printed,  with 
a dedication  to  Dr.  Comber,  Dean  of  Carlisle,  who  was 


INTRODUCTION. 


7 


Master  of  Trinity.  Tlie  poet  Richard  Crashaw,  who 
was  about  two  years  older  than  Cowley,  and,  having 
entered  Pembroke  Hall  in  1632,  became  a Fellow  of 
Peterhouse  in  1637,  sent  Cowley  a June  present  of  two 
unripe  apricots  with  pleasant  verses  of  compliment  on 
his  own  early  ripeness,  on  his  April- Autumn  : — 

“Take  them,  and  me,  in  them  acknowledging 
How  much  my  Summer  waits  upon  thy  Spring.” 

Cowley  was  able  afterwards  to  help  Crashaw  materially, 
and  wrote  some  lines  upon  his  early  death. 

In  1639  Cowley  took  the  degree  of  B.A.  In  1640 
he  was  chosen  a Minor  Fellow,  and  in  1642  a Major 
Fellow,  of  Trinity,  and  he  proceeded  to  his  M.A.  in 
due  course.  In  March,  1641,  when  Prince  Charles 
visited  Cambridge,  a comedy  called  “ The  Guardian,” 
hastily  written  by  Cowley,  was  acted  at  Trinity  College 
for  the  Prince’s  entertainment.  Cowley  is  said  also 
to  have  written  during  three  years  at  Cambridge  the 
greater  part  of  his  heroic  poem  on  the  history  of  David, 
the  “ Davideis.”  One  of  the  occasional  poems  written 
at  this  time  by  Cowley  was  on  the  early  and  sudden 
death  of  his  most  intimate  friend  at  the  University, 
William  Hervey,  to  whom  he  was  dearer  than  all  but 
his  brothers  and  sisters,  and,  says  Cowley : 

“ Even  in  that  we  did  agree, 

For  much  above  myself  I loved  them  too.” 

Hervey  and  Cowley  had  walked  daily  together,  and 
had  spent  nights  in  joint  study  of  philosophy  and 
poetry.  Hervey  “had  all  the  light  of  youth,  of  the 
tire  none.” 

“With  as  much  zeal,  devotion,  piety, 

He  always  lived  as  other  saints  do  die. 


8 


INTRODUCTION, 


Still  with  his  soul  severe  account  he  kept, 

Weeping  all  debts  out  ere  he  slept ; 

Then  down  in  peace  and  innocence  he  lay. 

Like  the  sun’s  laborious  light, 

Which  still  in  water  sets  at  night, 

Unsullied  with  the  journey  of  the  day.” 

Cowley’s  friendship  with  this  family  affected  the 
course  of  his  life.  He  received  many  kindnesses  from 
his  friend’s  brother  John  Hervey,  including  introduc- 
tion to  Henry  Jermyn,  one  of  the  most  trusted  friends 
of  Queen  Henrietta  Maria,  the  friend  who  was  created 
by  her  wish  Baron  Jermyn  of  St.  Edmondsbury,  who 
was  addressed  by  Charles  I.  as  “ Harry,”  and  was 
created  by  Charles  II.,  in  April,  1660,  Earl  of  St. 
Albans.  He  was  described  in  Queen  Henrietta’s  time 
by  a political  scandal-monger,  as  “ something  too  ugly 
for  a lady’s  favourite,  yet  that  is  nothing  to  some.” 
In  1643  Cowley  was  driven  from  Cambridge,  and  went 
to  St.  John’s  College,  Oxford.  To  Oxford  at  the  end 
of  that  year  the  king  summoned  a Parliament,  which 
met  on  the  22nd  of  J anuary,  1644.  This  brought  to 
Oxford  many  peers  and  Hoyalists,  who  deserted  the 
Parliament  at  Westminster  for  the  king’s  Parliament 
at  Oxford.  It  continued  to  sit  until  the  16th  of  April, 
by  which  time  the  king  had  found  even  his  own  Parlia- 
ment to  be  in  many  respects  too  independent.  In  1644 
the  queen,  about  to  become  a mother,  withdrew  to 
Exeter  from  Oxford,  against  which  an  army  was  ad- 
vancing ; and  the  pai  ting  at  Oxford  proved  to  be  the 
last  between  her  and  her  husband.  A daughter  was 
born  at  Exeter  on  the  16th  of  June.  Within  two  weeks 
afterwards  the  advance  of  an  army  towards  Exeter 
caused  the  queen  to  rise  from  her  bed  in  a dangerous 
state  of  health,  and,  leaving  her  child  in  good  keeping, 
escape  to  Plymouth,  where  she  reached  Pend«snnis 
Castle  on  the  29th  of  June.  On  the  2nd  of  July  the 


INTRODUCTION. 


9 


ting’s  forces  were  defeated  at  Marston  Moor.  On  the 
14th  of  July  the  queen  escaped  from  Falmouth  to  Brest. 
After  some  rest  at  the  baths  of  Bourbon,  she  went  on  to 
Paris,  where  she  was  lodged  in  the  Louvre,  and  well 
cared  for.  Jermyn  was  still  her  treasurer,  her  minister, 
and  the  friend  for  whose  counsel  she  cared  most. 

It  was  into  the  service  of  this  Lord  J ermyn  that  Cowley 
had  been  introduced  through  his  friendship  with  the 
Herveys.  He  went  to  Paris  as  Lord  Jermyn’s  secre- 
tary, had  charge  of  the  queen’s  political  correspondence, 
ciphered  and  deciphered  letters  between  Queen  Hen- 
rietta and  King  Charles,  and  was  thus  employed  so 
actively  under  Lord  Jermyn  that  his  work  filled  all 
his  days,  and  many  of  his  nights.  He  was  sent  also 
on  journeys  to  Jersey,  Scotland,  Flanders,  Holland,  or 
wherever  else  the  king’s  troubles  required  his  attend- 
ance. In  1647  Cowley  published  his  volume  of  forty- 
four  love  poems,  called  “The  Mistress.”  He  was  him- 
self no  gallant,  neither  paid  court  to  ladies,  nor  married. 
His  love  poetry  was  hypothetical;  and  of  his  life  at 
this  time  he  says  : “ Though  I was  in  a crowd  of  as  good 
company  as  could  be  found  anywhere ; though  I was 
in  business  of  great  and  honourable  trust ; though  1 
ate  at  the  best  table,  and  enjoyed  the  best  convenience 
for  present  subsistence  that  ought  to  be  desired  by  a 
man  of  my  condition  in  banishment  and  public  distresses, 
yet  I could  not  abstain  from  renewing  my  old  school- 
boy’s wish  in  a copy  of  verses  to  the  same  effect : — 

“ ‘ Well,  then,  I now  do  plainly  see 

This  busy  world  and  I shall  nVer  agree,’  &c., 

and  I never  then  proposed  to  myself  any  other  advan- 
tage from  his  Majesty’s  happy  restoration,  but  the 
getting  into  some  moderately  convenient  retreat  in  the 
country,  which  I thought,  in  that  case,  I might  easily 
have  compassed,  as  well  as  some  others  who,  with  no 


10 


INTRODUCTION. 


greater  probabilities  or  pretences,  have  arrived  to 
extraordinary  fortunes.” 

In  1654  Queen  Henrietta,  under  influence  of  a new 
confessor,  had  left  the  Louvre,  and,  with  the  little 
daughter  born  at  Exeter,  taken  up  her  quarters  in  a 
foundation  of  her  own,  at  Chaillot,  for  nuns  of  the 
visitation  of  St.  Mary.  Lord  Jermyn  having  little 
use  left  for  a secretary  in  Paris,  Cowley  in  1656,  after 
twelve  years’  service  in  France,  was  sent  to  England 
that  he  might  there  live  in  the  retirement  he  preferred, 
and  with  the  understanding  that  he  would  be  able  to 
send  information  upon  the  course  of  home  affairs.  In 
England  he  was  presently  seized  by  mistake  for  another 
man,  and,  when  his  name  and  position  were  known,  he 
was  imprisoned,  until  a friendly  physician,  Sir  Charles 
Scarborough,  undertook  to  be  security  in  a thousand 
pounds  for  his  good  conduct.  In  this  year,  1656, 
Cowley  published  the  first  folio  volume  of  his  Poems, 
prepared  in  prison,  and  suggested,  he  said,  by  his 
finding,  when  he  returned  to  England,  a book  called 
“The  Iron  Age,”  which  had  been  published  as  his, 
and  caused  him  to  wonder  that  any  one  foolish  enough 
to  write  such  bad  verses  should  yet  be  so  wise  as  to 
publish  them  under  another  man’s  name.  Cowley 
thought  then  that  he  had  taken  leave  of  verse,  which 
needed  less  troubled  times  for  its  reading,  and  a mind 
less  troubled  in  the  writer.  He  left  out  of  his  book, 
he  said,  the  pieces  written  during  the  Civil  War,  in- 
cluding three  books  of  the  Civil  War  itself,  reaching 
as  far  as  the  first  battle  of  Newbury.  These  he  had 
burnt,  for,  he  said,  “ I would  have  it  accounted  no  less 
unlawful  to  rip  up  old  wounds  than  to  give  new  ones.” 
“ When  the  event  of  battle  and  the  unaccountable 
Will  of  God  has  determined  the  controversy,  and  that 
we  have  submitted  to  the  will  of  the  conqueror,  we 
must  lay  down  our  pens  as  well  as  arms.”  The  first 


INTRODUCTION. 


11 


part  of  this  folio  contained  early  poems ; the  second 
part  “ The  Mistress  ; ” the  third  part  “Pindaric  Odes  ; ” 
and  the  fourth  and  last  his  “ Davideis.” 

In  September  of  the  following  year,  1657,  Cowley 
acted  as  best  man  to  George  Villiers,  Duke  of  Buck- 
ingham, on  his  marriage  at  Bolton  Percy,  to  Fairfax’s 
daughter ; Cowley  wrote  also  a sonnet  for  the  bride. 
In  December  he  obtained,  by  influence  of  friends,  the 
degree  of  M.D.  from  the  University  of  Oxford,  and 
retired  into  Kent  to  study  botany.  Such  study  caused 
him  then  to  write  a Latin  poem  upon  Plants,  in  six 
books  : the  first  two  on  Herbs,  in  elegiac  verse ; the  next 
two  on  Flowers,  in  various  measures  ; and  the  last  two 
on  Trees,  in  heroic  numbers  : — “ Plantarum,  Libri  VIP 

After  the  death  of  Cromwell,  Cowley  returned  to 
France,  but  he  came  back  to  England  in  1660,  when  he 
published  an  “ Ode  on  His  Majesty’s  Restoration  and 
Return,”  and  “A  Discourse  by  way  of  Vision  con- 
cerning the  Government  of  Oliver  Cromwell.”  He 
was  admitted,  as  Dr.  Cowley,  among  the  first  members 
of  the  Royal  Society  then  founded;  but  he  was  ex- 
cluded from  the  favour  of  the  king.  He  had  written 
an  “ Ode  to  Brutus,”  for  which,  said  his  Majesty,  it 
was  enough.  for  Mr.  Cowley  to  be  forgiven.  A noble 
lord  replied  to  Cowley’s  Ode,  in  praise  of  Brutus,  with 
an  Ode  against  that  Rebel.  Cowley’s  old  friend, 
Lord  Jermyn,  now  made  Earl  of  St.  Alban’s,  joined, 
however,  with  George  Yilliers,  Duke  of  Buckingham, 
in  providing  for  the  poet  all  that  was  required  to  secure 
to  him  the  quiet  life  that  he  desired.  Provision  to 
such  end  had  been  promised  him  both  by  Charles  I. 
and  Charles  II.,  in  the  definite  form  of  the  office  of 
Master  of  the  Savoy,  but  the  post  was  given  by 
Charles  II.  to  a brother  of  one  of  his  mistresses. 

Cowley  recast  his  old  comedy  of  “The  Guardian,” 
and  produced  it  in  December,  1661,  as  “ Cutter  of 


12 


INTRODUCTION. 


Coleman  Street.”  It  was  played  for  a week  to  a full 
audience,  though  some  condemned  it  on  the  supposition 
it  was  a satire  upon  the  king’s  party.  Cowley  cer- 
tainly was  too  pure  and  thoughtful  to  he  a fit  associate 
for  Charles  II.  and  many  of  his  friends.  The  help 
that  came  from  the  Earl  of  St.  Albans  and  the  Duke 
of  Buckingham,  was  in  the  form  of  such  a lease  of  the 
Queen’s  lands  as  gave  the  poet  a sufficient  income. 
Others  who  had  served  little  were  enriched;  but  he  was 
set  at  ease,  and  sought  no  more.  He  then  made  his 
home  by  the  Thames,  first  at  Barn  Elms,  and  after- 
wards at  Chertsey,  at  which  latter  place  he  lived  for 
about  a year  in  the  Porch  House,  that  yet  stands. 
Cowley  was  living  at  Chertsey  when  a July  evening 
in  damp  meadows  gave  him  a cold,  of  which  he  died 
within  a fortnight.  That  was  in  the  year  1667,  year 
also  of  the  death  of  J eremy  Taylor,  and  of  the  birth  of 
J onathan  Swift. 

Abraham  Cowley  is  at  his  truest  in  these  Essays, 
written  during  the  last  seven  years  of  his  life.  Their 
style  is  simple,  and  their  thoughts  are  pure.  They 
have,  for  their  keynote,  the  happiness  of  one  who  loves 
true  liberty  in  quiet  possession  of  himself.  When 
he  turns  to  the  Latins,  his  translations  are  all  from 
those  lines  which  would  have  dwelt  most  pleasantly 
upon  a mind  that  to  the  last  held  by  the  devout  wish 
expressed  by  himself  in  a poem  of  his  early  youth — (A 
Vote , in  “ Sylva  ”) : 

“ Books  should,  not  business,  entertain  the  light, 

And  sleep,  as  undisturbed  as  death,  the  night. 

My  house  a cottage  more 
Than  palace,  and  should  fitting  be 
For  all  my  use,  no  luxury. 

My  garden,  painted  o’er 

With  Nature’s  hand,  not  Art’s,  should  pleasures  yield, 
Horace  might  envy  in  his  Sabine  field.” 

H.  M, 


Cowley’s  Essays 


OF  LIBEETY. 

The  liberty  of  a people  consists  in  being  governed 
by  laws  which  they  have  made  themselves,  under 

whatsoever  form  it  be  of  government ; the  liberty 
of  a private  man  in  being  master  of  his  own  time 
and  actions,  as  far  as  may  consist  with  the  laws  of 
God  and  of  his  country.  Of  this  latter  only  we 
are  here  to  discourse,  and  to  inquire  what  estate  of 
life  does  best  suit  us  in  the  possession  of  it.  This 
liberty  of  our  own  actions  is  such  a fundamental 
privilege  of  human  nature,  that  God  Himself,  not- 
withstanding all  His  infinite  power  and  right  over 
us,  permits  us  to  enjoy  it,  and  that,  too,  after  a 
forfeiture  made  by  the  rebellion  of  Adam.  He 
takes  so  much  care  for  the  entire  preservation  of  it 


14 


COWLEY’S  ESSAYS. 


to  us,  that  He  suffers  neither  His  providence  nor 
eternal  decree  to  break  or  infringe  it.  Now  for 
our  time,  the  same  God,  to  whom  we  are  but 
tenants-at-will  for  the  whole,  requires  but  the 
seventh  part  to  be  paid  to  Him  at  as  a small  quit- 
rent,  in  acknowledgment  of  His  title.  It  is  man 
only  that  has  the  impudence  to  demand  our  whole 
time,  though  he  neither  gave  it,  nor  can  restore  it, 
nor  is  able  to  pay  any  considerable  value  for  the 
least  part  of  it.  This  birthright  of  mankind  above 
all  other  creatures  some  are  forced  by  hunger  to 
sell,  like  Esau,  for  bread  and  broth  ; but  the 
greatest  part  of  men  make  such  a bargain  for  the 
delivery  up  of  themselves,  as  Thamar  did  with 
Judah;  instead  of  a kid,  the  necessary  provisions 
for  human  life,  they  are  contented  to  do  it  for 
rings  and  bracelets.  The  great  dealers  in  this 
world  may  be  divided  into  the  ambitious,  the 
covetous,  and  the  voluptuous ; and  that  all  these 
men  sell  themselves  to  be  slaves — though  to*’  the 
vulgar  it  may  seem  a Stoical  paradox — will  appear 
to  the  wise  so  plain  and  obvious  that  they  will 


OF  LIBERTY. 


15 


scarce  think  it  deserves  the  labour  of  argu menta- 
tion. Let  us  first  consider  the  ambitious ; and 
those,  both  in  their  progress  to  greatness,  and  after 
the  attaining  of  it.  There  is  nothing  truer  than 
what  Sallust  says  : “ Dominationis  in  alios  servitium 
suum  mercedem  dant  ” : They  are  content  to  pay 
so  great  a price  as  their  own  servitude  to  purchase 
the  domination  over  others.  The  first  thing  they 
must  resolve  to  sacrifice  is  their  whole  time ; they 
must  never  stop,  nor  ever  turn  aside  whilst  they 
are  in  the  race  of  glory ; no,  not  like  Atalanta 
for  golden  apples;  “ Neither  indeed  can  a man 
stop  himself  if  he  would,  when  he  is  in  this 
career.  Fertur  equis  auriga  neque  audit  currus 
habenas. 

Pray  let  us  but  consider  a little  what  mean,, 
servile  things  men  do  for  this  imaginary  food.  Wo 
cannot  fetch  a greater  example  of  it  than  from  the 
chief  men  of  that  nation  which  boasted  most  of 
liberty.  To  what  pitiful  baseness  did  the  noblest 
Romans  submit  themselves  for  the  obtaining  of  a 
prsetorship,  or  the  consular  dignity  ? They  put  on 


16 


COWLEY'S  ESSAYS. 


the  habit  of  suppliants,  and  ran  about,  on  foot  and 
in  dirt,  through  all  the  tribes  to  beg  voices  ; they 
flattered  the  poorest  artisans,  and  carried  a nomen- 
clator  with  them,  to  whisper  in  their  ear  every 
man’s  name,  lest  they  should  mistake  it  in  their 
salutations ; they  shook  the  hand,  and  kissed  the 
cheek  of  every  popular  tradesman ; they  stood  all 
day  at  every  market  in  the  public  places,  to  show 
and  ingratiate  themselves  to  the  rout ; they  em- 
ployed all  their  friends  to  solicit  for  them ; they 
kept  open  tables  in  every  street ; they  distributed 
wine,  and  bread,  and  money,  even  to  the  vilest  of 
the  people.  En  Romanos , rerum  Dominos  ! Behold 
the  masters  of  the  world  beginning  from  door  to 
door.  This  particular  humble  way  to  greatness 
is  now  out  of  fashion,  but  yet  every  ambitious 
person  is  still  in  some  sort  a Koman  candidate. 
He  must  feast  and  bribe,  and  attend  and  flatter, 
and  adore  many  beasts,  though  not  the  beast  with 
many  heads.  Catiline,  who  was  so  proud  that  he 
could  not  content  himself  with  a less  power  than 
Sylla’s,  was  yet  so  humble  for  the  attaining  of  it, 


OF  LIBERTY. 


17 


as  to  make  himself  the  most  contemptible  of  all 
servants,  to  be  a public  bawd  for  all  the  young 
gentlemen  of  Rome  whose  hot  lusts,  and  courages, 
and  heads,  he  thought  he  might  make  use  of.  And 
since  I happen  here  to  propose  Catiline  for  my 
instance,  though  there  be  thousand  of  examples  for 
the  same  thing,  give  me  leave  to  transcribe  the  cha- 
racter which  Cicero  gives  of  this  noble  slave,  because 
it  is  a general  description  of  all  ambitious  men,  and 
which  Machiavel  perhaps  would  say  ought  to  be  the 
rule  of  their  life  and  actions.  u This  man,”  says 
he,  as  most  of  you  may  well  remember,  “ had  many 
artificial  touches  and  strokes  that  looked  like  the 
beauty  of  great  virtues ; his  intimate  conversation 
was  with  the  worst  of  men,  and  yet  he  seemed  to 
be  an  admirer  and  lover  of  the  best ; he  was  fur- 
nished with  all  the  nets  of  lust  and  luxury,  and  yet 
wanted  not  the  arms  of  labour  and  industry  : 
neither  do  I believe  that  there  was  ever  any 
monster  in  nature,  composed  out  of  so  many  dif- 
ferent and  disagreeing  parts.  Who  more  accept- 
able, sometimes,  to  the  most  honourable  persons! 


18 


COWLEY’S  ESSAYS. 


who  more  a favourite  to  the  most  infamous  ? who, 
sometimes,  appeared  a braver  champion  ? who,  at 
other  times,  a bolder  enemy  to  his  country  h who 
more  dissolute  in  his  pleasures  % who  more  patient 
in  his  toils  1 who  more  rapacious  in  robbing  1 who 
more  profuse  in  giving  ? Above  all  things,  this 
was  remarkable  and  admirable  in  him.  The  arts 
he  had  to  acquire  the  good  opinion  and  kindness 
of  all  sorts  of  men,  to  retain  it  with  great  corn 
plaisance,  to  communicate  all  things  to  them,  to 
watch  and  serve  all  the  occasions  of  their  fortune,, 
both  with  his  money  and  his  interest,  and  his 
industry,  and  if  need  were,  not  by  sticking  at  any 
wickedness  whatsoever  that  might  be  useful  to 
them,  to  bend  and  turn  about  bis  own  nature  and 
laveer  with  every  wind,  to  live  severely  with  the 
melancholy,  merrily  with  the  pleasant,  gravely 
with  the  aged,  wantonly  with  the  young,  des- 
perately with  the  bold,  and  debauchedly  with  the 
luxurious.  With  this  variety  and  multiplicity  of 
his  nature,  as  he  had  made  a collection  of  friend- 
ships with  all  the  most  wicked  and  reckless  of  all 


OF  LIBERTY. 


19 


nations,  so,  by  the  artificial  simulation  of  some 
virtues,  he  made  a shift  to  ensnare  some  honest  and 
eminent  persons  into  his  familiarity  ; neither  could 
so  vast  a design  as  the  destruction  of  this  empire 
have  been  undertaken  by  him,  if  the  immanity 
of  so  many  vices  had  not  been  covered  and  dis- 
guised by  the  appearances  of  some  excellent 
qualities.” 

I see,  methinks,  the  character  of  an  Anti-Paul, 
who  became  all  things  to  all  men,  that  he  might 
destroy  all ; who  only  wanted  the  assistance  of 
fortune  to  have  been  as  great  as  his  friend  Csesar 
was,  a little  after  him.  And  the  ways  of  Csesar  to 
compass  the  same  ends — I mean  till  the  civil  warr 
which  was  but  another  manner  of  setting  his 
country  on  fire — were  not  unlike  these,  though  he 
used  afterward  his  unjust  dominion  with  more 
moderation  than  I think  the  other  would  have 
done.  Sallust,  therefore,  who  was  well  acquainted 
with  them  both,  and  with  many  such-like  gentle- 
men of  his  time,  says,  “That  it  is  the  nature  of 
ambition”  ( Ambitio  multos  mortales  fatsos  fieri 


20 


COWLEY’S  ESSAYS. 


coegit , etc.)  u to  make  men  liars  and  clieaters ; to 
hide  the  truth  in  their  breasts,  and  show,  like 
jugglers,  another  thing  in  their  mouths ; to  cut  all 
friendships  and  enmities  to  the  measure  of  their 
own  interest,  and  to  make  a good  countenance 
without  the  help  of  good  will.”  And  can  there  be 
freedom  with  this  perpetual  constraint  ? What  is 
it  but  a kind  of  rack  that  forces  men  to  say  what 
they  have  no  mind  to  ? I have  wondered  at  the 
extravagant  and  barbarous  stratagem  of  Zopirus, 
and  more  at  the  praises  which  I find  of  so  deformed 
an  action  ; who,  though  he  was  one  of  the  seven 
grandees  of  Persia,  and  the  son  of  Megabises,  who 
had  freed  before  his  country  from  an  ignoble  servi- 
tude, slit  his  own  nose  and  lips,  cut  off  his  own 
ears,  scourged  and  wounded  his  whole  body,  that 
he  might,  under  pretence  of  having  been  mangled 
so  inhumanly  by  Darius,  be  received  into  Babylon 
(then  besieged  by  the  Persians)  and  get  into  the 
command  of  it  by  the  recommendation  of  so  cruel, 
a sufferance,  and  their  hopes  of  his  endeavouring 
to  revenge  it.  It  is  a great  pity  the  Babylonians 


OF  LIBERTY. 


21 


suspected  not  his  falsehood,  that  they  might  have 
cut  off  his  hands  too,  and  whipped  him  back  again. 
But  the  design  succeeded  ; he  betrayed  the  city,  and 
was  made  governor  of  it.  What  brutish  master 
ever  punished  his  offending  slave  with  so  little 
mercy  as  ambition  did  this  Zopirus  ? and  yet  how 
many  are  there  in  all  nations  who  imitate  him  in 
some  degree  for  a less  reward  ; who,  though  they 
endure  not  so  much  corporal  pain  for  a small  pre- 
ferment, or  some  honour,  as  they  call  it,  yet  stick 
not  to  commit  actions,  by  which  they  are  more 
shamefully  and  more  lastingly  stigmatised  h But 
you  may  say,  “Though  these  be  the  most  ordin- 
ary and  open  ways  to  greatness,  yet  there  are 
narrow,  thorny,  and  little-trodden  paths,  too* 
through  which  some  men  find  a passage  by  virtuous 
industry.”  I grant,  sometimes  they  may  ; but  then 
that  industry  must  be  such  as  cannot  consist  with 
liberty,  though  it  may  with  honesty. 

Thou  art  careful,  frugal,  painful.  We  commend 
a servant  so,  but  not  a friend. 

Well,  then,  we  must  acknowledge  the  toil  and 


122 


COWLEY’S  ESSAYS. 


drudgery  which  we  are  forced  to  endure  in  this 
assent,  but  we  are  epicures  and  lords  when  once  we 
are  gotten  up  into  the  high  places.  This  is  but  a 
short  apprenticeship,  after  which  we  are  made  free 
of  a royal  company.  If  we  fall  in  love  with  any 
beauteous  woman,  we  must  be  content  that  they 
should  be  our  mistresses  whilst  we  woo  them.  As 
soon  as  we  are  wedded  and  enjoy,  ’tis  we  shall  be 
the  masters. 

I am  willing  to  stick  to  this  similitude  in  the 
•case  of  greatness  : we  enter  into  the  bonds  of  it, 
like  those  of  matrimony ; we  are  bewitched  with 
the  outward  and  painted  beauty,  and  take  it  for 
better  or  worse  before  we  know  its  true  nature  and 
interior  inconveniences.  “ A great  fortune,”  says 
Seneca,  “is  a great  servitude.”  But  many  are  of 
that  opinion  which  Brutus  imputes  (I  hope  untruly) 
•even  to  that  patron  of  liberty,  his  friend  Cicero. 
“We  fear,”  says  he  to  Atticus,  “death,  and  banish- 
ment, and  poverty,  a great  deal  too  much.  Cicero, 
I am  afraid,  thinks  these  to  be  the  worst  of  evils, 
and  if  he  have  but  some  persons  from  whom  he 


OF  LIBERTY. 


23 


can  obtain  what  he  has  a mind  to,  and  others  who 
will  flatter  and  worship  him,  seems  to  be  well 
enough  contented  with  an  honourable  servitude, 
if  anything,  indeed,  ought  to  be  called  honourable 
in  so  base  and  contumelious  a condition. ” This 
was  spoken  as  became  the  bravest  man  who  was 
ever  born  in  the  bravest  commonwealth.  But 
with  us,  generally,  no  condition  passes  for  servitude 
that  is  accompanied  with  great  riches,  with  honours, 
and  with  the  service  of  many  inferiors.  This  is 
but  a deception  of  the  sight  through  a false 
medium ; for  if  a groom  serve  a gentleman  in  his 
chamber,  that  gentleman  a lord,  and  that  lord  a 
prince,  the  groom,  the  gentleman,  and  the  lord  are 
as  much  servants  one  as  the  other.  The  circum- 
stantial difference  of  the  one  getting  only  his 
bread  and  wages,  the  second  a plentiful,  and  the 
third  a superfluous  estate,  is  no  more  intrinsical  to 
this  matter  than  the  difference  between  a plain,  a 
rich  and  gaudy  livery.  I do  not  say  that  he  who 
sells  his  whole  time  and  his  own  will  for  one 
hundred  thousand  is  not  a wiser  merchant  than  he 


24 


COWLEY’S  ESSAYS. 


who  does  it  for  one  hundred  pounds;  hut  I will 
swear  they  are  both  merchants,  and  that  he  is 
happier  than  both  who  can  live  contentedly  without 
selling  that  estate  to  which  he  was  born.  But 
this  dependence  upon  superiors  is  but  one  chain  of 
the  lovers  of  power,  Amatorem  trecentce  Pirithoum 
cohib'ent  catenae.  Let  us  begin  with  him  by  break 
of  day,  for  by  that  time  he  is  besieged  by  two  or 
three  hundred  suitors,  and  the  hall  and  anti- 
chambers (all  the  outworks)  possessed  by  the 
enemy  ; as  soon  as  his  chamber  opens,  they  are 
ready  to  break  into  that,  or  to  corrupt  the  guards 
for  entrance.  This  is  so  essential  a part  of  great- 
ness, that  whosoever  is  without  it  looks  like  a 
fallen  favourite,  like  a person  disgraced,  and 
condemned  to  do  what  he  please  all  the  morning. 
There  are  some  who,  rather  than  want  this,  are 
contented  to  have  their  rooms  filled  up  every  day 
with  murmuring  and  cursing  creditors,  and  to 
charge  bravely  through  a body  of  them  to  get  to 
their  coach.  Now  I would  fain  know  which  is  the 
worst  duty,  that  of  any  one  particular  person  who 


OF  LIBERTY. 


25 


waits  to  speak  with  the  great  man,  or  the  great 
man’s,  who  waits  every  day  to  speak  with  all  the 
company.  Aliena  negotia  centum  Per  caput  et 
circum  saliunt  latus : A hundred  businesses  of 
other  men  (many  unjust  and  most  impertinent)  fly 
•continually  about  his  head  and  ears,  and  strike 
him  in  the  face  like  dors.  Let  us  contemplate 
him  a little  at  another  special  scene  of  glory,  and 
that  is  his  table.  Here  he  seems  to  be  the  lord  of 
all  Nature.  The  earth  affords  him  her  best  metals 
for  his  dishes,  her  best  vegetables  and  animals  for 
his  food ; the  air  and  sea  supply  him  with  their 
choicest  birds  and  fishes ; and  a great  many  men 
who  look  like  masters  attend  upon  him ; and  yet, 
when  all  this  is  done,  even  all  this  is  but  Table 
d’Hote.  It  is  crowded  with  people  for  whom  he 
cares  not — with  many  parasites,  and  some  spies, 
with  the  most  burdensome  sort  of  guests — the 
endeavourers  to  be  witty. 

But  everybody  pays  him  great  respect,  everybody 
commends  his  meat — that  is,  his  money;  every- 
body admires  the  exquisite  dressing  and  ordering 


26 


COWLEY’S  ESSAYS. 


of  it — that  is,  his  clerk  of  the  kitchen,  or  his 
cook ; everybody  loves  his  hospitality — that  is,  his 
vanity.  But  I desire  to  know  why  the  honest 
innkeeper  who  provides  a public  table  for  his 
profits  should  be  but  of  a mean  profession,  and  he 
who  does  it  for  his  honour  a munificent  prince. 
You’ll  say,  because  one  sells  and  the  other  gives. 
Nay,  both  sell,  though  for  different  things — the 
one  for  plain  money,  the  other  for  I know  not 
what  jewels,  whose  value  is  in  custom  and  in  fancy. 
If,  then,  his  table  be  made  a snare  (as  the 
Scripture  speaks)  to  his  liberty,  where  can  he  hope 
for  freedom  ? there  is  always  and  everywhere  some 
restraint  upon  him.  He  is  guarded  with  crowds, 
and  shackled  with  formalities.  The  half  hat,  the 
whole  hat,  the  half  smile,  the  whole  smile,  the 
nod,  the  embrace,  the  positive  parting  with  a little 
bow,  the  comparative  at  the  middle  of  the  room, 
the  superlative  at  the  door ; and  if  the  person  be 
Pan  huper  sebastos , there’s  a Huper  superlative 
ceremony  then  of  conducting  him  to  the  bottom  of 
the  stairs,  or  to  the  very  gate  : as  if  there  were 


OF  LIBERTY. 


27 


such  rules  set  to  these  Leviathans  as  are  to  the 
sea,  “ Hitherto  shalt  thou  go,  and  no  further.  ’* 
Perditur  licec  inter  misero  Lux . Thus  wretchedly 
the  precious  day  is  lost. 

How  many  impertinent  letters  and  visits  must 
he  receive,  and  sometimes  answer  both  too  as  im- 
pertinently % He  never  sets  his  foot  beyond  his 
threshold,  unless,  like  a funeral,  he  hath  a train  to 
follow  him,  as  if,  like  the  dead  corpse,  he  could 
not  stir  till  the  bearers  were  all  ready.  “My 
life,”  says  Horace,  speaking  to  one  of  these  mag- 
nificos , “is  a great  deal  more  easy  and  commodious 
than  thine,  in  that  I can  go  into  the  market  and1 
cheapen  what  I please  without  being  wondered  at  * 
and  take  my  horse  and  ride  as  far  as  Tarentum 
without  being  missed.”  It  is  an  unpleasant  con- 
straint to  be  always  under  the  sight  and  observa- 
tion and  censure  of  others ; as  there  may  be 
vanity  in  it,  so,  methinks,  there  should  be  vexation 
too  of  spirit.  And  I wonder  how  princes  can 
endure  to  have  two  or  three  hundred  men  stand 
gazing  upon  them  whilst  they  are  at  dinner,  and 


•28 


COWLEY’S  ESSAYS. 


taking  notice  of  every  bit  they  eat.  Nothing 
seems  greater  and  more  lordly  than  the  multitude 
of  domestic  servants,  but,  even  this  too,  if  weighed 
seriously,  is  a piece  of  servitude ; unless  you  will 
be  a servant  to  them,  as  many  men  are,  the  trouble 
and  care  of  yours  in  the  government  of  them  all, 
is  much  more  than  that  of  every  one  of  them  in 
their  observation  of  you.  I take  the  profession  of 
a schoolmaster  to  be  one  of  the  most  useful,  and 
which  ought  to  be  of  the  most  honourable  in  a 
commonwealth,  yet  certainly  all  his  farces  and 
tyrannical  authority  over  so  many  boys  takes 
away  his  own  liberty  more  than  theirs. 

I do  but  slightly  touch  upon  all  these  particulars 
of  the  slavery  of  greatness ; I shake  but  a few  of 
their  outward  chains  ; their  anger,  hatred,  jealousy, 
fear,  envy,  grief,  and  all  the  et  cetera  of  their  pas- 
sions, which  are  the  secret  but  constant  tyrants 
and  torturers  of  their  life.  I omit  here,  because 
though  they  be  symptoms  most  frequent  and  violent 
in  this  disease,  yet  they  are  common  too  in  some 
degree  to  the  epidemical  disease  of  life  itself.  But 


OF  LIBERTY, 


29 


the  ambitious  man,  though  he  be  so  many  ways  a 
slave  ( 0 toties  servus  /),  yet  he  bears  it  bravely  and 
heroically ; he  struts  and  looks  big  upon  the  stage, 
he  thinks  himself  a real  prince  in  his  masking 
habit,  and  deceives  too  all  the  foolish  part  of  his 
spectators.  He’s  a slave  in  Saturnalibus.  The 
covetous  man  is  a downright  servant,  a draught 
horse  without  bells  or  feathers ; ad  metalla  dam - 
natus , a man  condemned  to  work  in  mines,  which 
is  the  lowest  and  hardest  condition  of  servitude ; 
and,  to  increase  his  misery,  a worker  there  for  he 
knows  not  whom.  He  heapeth  up  riches  and 
knows  not  who  shall  enjoy  them  ; ’tis  only  that  he 
himself  neither  shall  nor  can  enjoy  them.  He  is  an 
indigent  needy  slave,  he  will  hardly  allow  himself 
clothes  and  board  wages ; Unciatim  vix  demenso  de 
suo  suum  defraudans  Genium  comparsit  miser . 
He  defrauds  not  only  other  men,  but  his  own 
genius.  He  cheats  himself  for  money.  But  the 
servile  and  miserable  condition  of  this  wretch  is  so 
apparent,  that  I leave  it,  as  evident  to  every  man’s 
sight,  as  well  as  judgment.  It  seems  a more 


COWLEY’S  ESSAYS. 


30 

difficult  work  to  prove  that  the  voluptuous  man 
too  is  but  a servant.  What  can  be  more  the  life 
of  a freeman,  or,  as  we  say  ordinarily,  of  a gentle- 
man, than  to  follow  nothing  but  his  own  pleasures  ? 
Why,  I’ll  tell  you  who  is  that  true  freeman  and 
that  true  gentleman;  not  he  who  blindly  follows 
all  his  pleasures  (the  very  name  of  follower  is 
servile),  but  he  who  rationally  guides  them,  and  is 
not  hindered  by  outward  impediments  in  the  con- 
duct and  enjoyment  of  them.  If  I want  skill  or 
force  to  restrain  the  beast  that  I ride  upon,  though 
I bought  it,  and  call  it  my  own,  yet  in  the  truth  of 
the  matter  I am  at  that  time  rather  his  man  than 
he  my  horse.  The  voluptuous  men  (whom  we  are 
fallen  upon)  may  be  divided,  I think,  into  the 
lustful  and  luxurious,  who  are  both  servants  of  the 
belly ; the  other  whom  we  spoke  of  before,  the 
ambitious  and  the  covetous,  were  kuko.  d^pia,  evil 
wild  beasts ; these  are  rcurre'pes  apyai,  slow  bellies,  as 
our  translation  renders  it ; but  the  word  s Apyai 
(which  is  a fantastical  word  with  two  directly 
opposite  significations)  will  bear  as  well  the  trans- 


OF  LIBERTY. 


31 


lation  of  quick  or  diligent  bellies,  and  both  interpre- 
tations may  be  applied  to  these  men.  Metrodorus 
said,  C(  That  he  had  learnt  *A \rj0cvs  yaarpl  xaPLC€ar^ah 
to  give  his  belly  just  thanks  for  all  his  pleasures.” 
This  by  the  calumniators  of  Epicurus  his  philosophy 
was  objected  as  one  of  the  most  scandalous  of  all 
their  sayings,  which,  according  to  my  charitable 
understanding,  may  admit  a very  virtuous  sense, 
which  is,  that  he  thanked  his  own  belly  for  that 
moderation  in  the  customary  appetites  of  it,  which 
can  only  give  a man  liberty  and  happiness  in  this 
world.  Let  this  suffice  at  present  to  be  spoken  of 
those  great  triumviri  of  the  world ; the  covetous 
man,  who  is  a mean  villain,  like  Lepidus;  the 
ambitious,  who  is  a brave  one,  like  Octavius ; 
and  the  voluptuous,  who  is  a loose  and  debauched 
one,  like  Mark  Antony.  Quisnam  igitur  Liber  ? 
Sapiens , sibi  qui  Imperiosus.  Not  Oenomaus,  who 
commits  himself  wholly  to  a charioteer  that  may 
break  his  neck,  but  the  man 

Who  governs  his  own  course  with  steady  hand, 

Who  does  himself  with  sovereign  power  command ; 


32 


COWLEY’S  ESSAYS. 


Whom  neither  death  nor  poverty  does  fright, 

Who  stands  not  awkwardly  in  his  own  light 
Against  the  truth  : who  can,  when  pleasures  knock 
Loud  at  his  door,  keep  firm  the  bolt  and  lock. 

Who  can,  though  honour  at  his  gate  should  stay 
In  all  her  masking  clothes,  send  her  away, 

And  cry,  Begone,  I have  no  mind  to  play. 

This  I confess  is  a freeman  ; but  it  may  be  said 
that  many  persons  are  so  shackled  by  their  fortune 
that  they  are  hindered  from  enjoyment  of  that 
manumission  which  they  have  obtained  from  virtue. 
I do  both  understand,  and  in  part  feel  the  weight 
of  this  objection.  All  I can  answer  to  it  is,  “That 
we  must  get  as  much  liberty  as  we  can ; we  must 
use  our  utmost  endeavours,  and  when  all  that  is 
done,  be  contented  with  the  length  of  that  line 
which  is  allowed  us.”  If  you  ask  me  in  what 
condition  of  life  I think  the  most  allowed,  I should 
pitch  upon  that  sort  of  people  whom  King  James 
was  wont  to  call  the  happiest  of  our  nation,  the 
men  placed  in  the  country  by  their  fortune  above 
an  high  constable,  and  yet  beneath  the  trouble  of  a 
justice  of  the  peace,  in  a moderate  plenty,  without 


OF  LIBERTY. 


33 


any  just  argument  for  the  desire  of  increasing  it 
by  the  care  of  many  relations,  and  with  so  much 
knowledge  and  love  of  piety  and  philosophy  (that 
is,  of  the  study  of  God’s  laws  and  of  his  creatures) 
as  may  afford  him  matter  enough  never  to  be  idle 
though  without  business,  and  never  to  be  melan- 
choly though  without  sin  or  vanity. 

I shall  conclude  this  tedious  discourse  with  a 
prayer  of  mine  in  a copy  of  Latin  verses,  of  which 
I remember  no  other  part,  and  ( 'pour  faire  bonne 
bouche ) with  some  other  verses  upon  the  same 
subject. 

Magne  Deus\  quod  ad  has  vitce  brevis  attinet  boras , 
Da  mihi , da  Panem  Libert  at  emque , nec  ultra 
Sollicitas  effundo  preces , si  quid  datur  ultrk 
Accipiam  gratus  ; si  non , contentus  abibo. 

For  the  few  hours  of  life  allotted  me, 

G-ive  me,  great  G-od,  but  Bread  and  Liberty, 

I’ll  beg  no  more  ; if  more  thou’rt  pleased  to  give, 

I’ll  thankfully  that  overplus  receive. 

If  beyond  this  no  more  be  freely  sent, 

I’ll  thank  for  this,  and  go  away  content. 


b — 28 


34 


cowley’s  essays. 


Martial.  Lib.  2. 

Vota  tui  breviter , etc. 

Well  then,  sir,  you  shall  know  how  far  extend, 
The  prayers  and  hopes  of  your  poetic  friend. 

He  does  not  palaces  nor  manors  crave, 

W ould  be  no  lord,  but  less  a lord  would  have. 
The  ground  he  holds,  if  he  his  own  can  call, 

He  quarrels  not  with  Heaven  because  ’tis  small 
Let  gay  and  toilsome  greatness  others  please, 

He  loves  of  homely  littleness  the  ease. 

Can  any  man  in  gilded  rooms  attend, 

And  his  dear  hours  in  humble  visits  spend, 
When  in  the  fresh  and  beauteous  fields  he  may 
With  various  healthful  pleasures  fill  the  day  ? 

If  there  be  man,  ye  gods,  I ought  to  hate, 
Dependence  and  attendance  be  his  fate. 

Still  let  him  busy  be,  and  in  a crowd, 

And  very  much  a slave,  and  very  proud  : 

Thus  he,  perhaps,  powerful  and  rich  may  grow ; 
No  matter,  O ye  gods  ! that  I’ll  allow. 


OF  LIBERTY. 


35 


But  let  him  peace  and  freedom  never  see ; 
Let  him  not  love  this  life,  who  loves  not  me. 


Martial.  Lib.  2. 

Vis  fieri  Liber , etc . 

Would  you  be  free  1 ’Tis  your  chief  wish,  you 
say, 

Come  on ; I’ll  show  thee,  friend,  the  certain  way. 

If  to  no  feasts  abroad  thou  lov’st  to  go, 

Whilst  bounteous  God  does  bread  at  home  bestow ; 
If  thou  the  goodness  of  thy  clothes  dost  prize 
By  thine  own  use,  and  not  by  others’  eyes  ; 

If,  only  safe  from  weathers,  thou  canst  dwell 
In  a small  house,  but  a convenient  shell : 

If  thou  without  a sigh,  or  golden  wish, 

Canst  look  upon  thy  beechen  bowl  and  dish  ; 

If  in  thy  mind  such  power  and  greatness  be — 

The  Persian  King ’s  a slave  compared  with  thee. 


36 


cowley’s  essays. 


Martial.  L.  2. 

Quod  te  nomine  ? etc. 

That  I do  you  with  humble  bows  no  more. 
And  danger  of  my  naked  head,  adore ; 

That  I,  who  lord  and  master  cried  erewhile. 
Salute  you  in  a new  and  different  style, 

By  your  own  name,  a scandal  to  you  now ; 
Think  not  that  I forget  myself  or  you  : 

By  loss  of  all  things  by  all  others  sought 
This  freedom,  and  the  freeman’s  hat,  is  bought, 
A lord  and  master  no  man  wants  but  he 
Who  o’er  himself  has  no  authority, 

Who  does  for  honours  and  for  riches  strive, 
And  follies  without  which  lords  cannot  live. 

If  thou  from  fortune  dost  no  servant  crave, 
Believe  it,  thou  no  master  need’st  to  have. 


OF  LIBERTY, 


37 


Ode 

UPON  LIBERTY. 


I. 

Freedom  with  virtue  takes  her  seat ; 

Her  proper  place,  her  only  scene, 

Is  in  the  golden  mean, 

She  lives  not  with  the  poor,  nor  with  the  great : 
The  wings  of  those,  Necessity  has  clipped, 

And  they’re  in  Fortune’s  Bridewell  whipped, 
To  the  laborious  task  of  bread ; 

These  are  by  various  tyrants  captive  led. 

Now  wild  Ambition  with  imperious  force 
Rides,  reins,  and  spurs  them  like  th’  unruly  horse ; 
And  servile  Avarice  yokes  them  now 
Like  toilsome  oxen  to  the  plough  ; 

And  sometimes  Lust,  like  the  misguiding  light, 
Draws  them  through  all  the  labyrinths  of  night. 

If  any  few  among  the  great  there  be 
From  the  insulting  passions  free, 


38 


cowley’s  essays. 


Yet  we  even  those  too  fettered  see 
By  custom,  business,  crowds,  and  formal  decency  , 
And  wheresoe’er  they  stay,  and  wheresoe’er  they  go, 
Impertinences  round  them  flow. 

These  are  the  small  uneasy  things 
Which  about  greatness  still  are  found, 

And  rather  it  molest  than  wound 
Like  gnats  which  too  much  heat  of  summer  brings ; 
But  cares  do  swarm  there  too,  and  those  have 
stings  : 

As  when  the  honey  does  too  open  lie, 

A thousand  wasps  about  it  fly 
Nor  will  the  master  even  to  share  admit ; 

The  master  stands  aloof,  and  dares  not  taste  of  it. 

ii. 

’Tis  morning,  well,  I fain  would  yet  sleep  on  ; 

You  cannot  now  ; you  must  be  gone 
To  Court,  or  to  the  noisy  hall  : 

Besides,  the  rooms  without  are  crowded  all ; 

The  steam  of  business  does  begin, 

And  a springtide  of  clients  is  come  in. 


OF  LIBERTY. 

Ah,  cruel  guards,  which  this  poor  prisoner  keep, 
Will  they  not  suffer  him  to  sleep  ! 

Make  an  escape ; out  at  the  postern  flee, 

And  get  some  blessed  hours  of  liberty. 

With  a few  friends,  and  a few  dishes  dine, 

And  much  of  mirth  and  moderate  wine ; 
To  thy  bent  mind  some  relaxation  give, 

And  steal  one  day  out  of  thy  life  to  live. 

Oh  happy  man,  he  cries,  to  whom  kind  Heaven 
Has  such  a freedom  always  given  ! 

Why,  mighty  madman,  what  should  hinder  thee 
From  being  every  day  as  free  h 

hi. 

In  all  the  freeborn  nations  of  the  air, 

Never  did  bird  a spirit  so  mean  and  sordid  bear 
As  to  exchange  his  native  liberty 
Of  soaring  boldly  up  into  the  sky, 

His  liberty  to  sing,  to  perch,  or  fly 
When,  and  wherever  he  thought  good, 

And  all  his  innocent  pleasures  of  the  wood, 

For  a more  plentiful  or  constant  food. 


40 


cowley’s  essays. 


N or  ever  did  ambitious  rage 
Make  him  into  a painted  cage 
Or  the  false  forest  of  a well-hung  room 
For  honour  and  preferment  come. 

Now,  blessings  on  ye  all,  ye  heroic  race, 

Who  keep  their  primitive  powers  and  rights  so 
well 

Though  men  and  angels  fell. 

Of  all  material  lives  the  highest  place 
To  you  is  justly  given, 

And  ways  and  walks  the  nearest  Heaven ; 
Whilst  wretched  we,  yet  vain  and  proud,  think 
fit 

To  boast  that  we  look  up  to  it. 

Even  to  the  universal  tyrant  Love 

You  homage  pay  but  once  a year  ; 

None  so  degenerous  and  unbirdly  prove, 

As  his  perpetual  yoke  to  bear. 

None  but  a few  unhappy  household  fowl, 

Whom  human  lordship  does  control ; 

Who  from  their  birth  corrupted  were 
By  bondage,  and  by  man’s  example  here. 


OF  LIBERTY. 


41 


IV. 

He’s  no  small  prince  who  every  day 
Thus  to  himself  can  say, 

Now  will  I sleep,  now  eat,  now  sit,  now  walk, 

Now  meditate  alone,  now  with  acquaintance 
talk ; 

This  I will  do,  here  I will  stay, 

Or,  if  my  fancy  call  me  away, 

My  man  and  I will  presently  go  ride 
(For  we  before  have  nothing  to  provide, 

Nor  after  are  to  render  an  account) 

To  Dover,  Berwick,  or  the  Cornish  Mount. 

If  thou  but  a short  journey  take, 

As  if  thy  last  thou  wert  to  make, 

Business  must  be  despatched  ere  thou  canst 
part. 

Nor  canst  thou  stir  unless  there  be 
A hundred  horse  and  men  to  wait  on  thee, 
And  many  a mule,  and  many  a cart : 

What  an  unwieldy  man  thou  art  ! 

The  Bhodian  Colossus  so 
A journey  too  might  go. 


42 


cowley’s  essays. 


v. 

Where  honour  or  where  conscience  does  not 
bind, 

No  other  law  shall  shackle  me  1 
Slave  to  myself  I will  not  be, 

Nor  shall  my  future  actions  be  confined 
By  my  own  present  mind. 

Who  by  resolves  and  vows  engaged  does  stand 
For  days  that  yet  belong  to  fate, 

Does  like  an  unthrift  mortgage  his  estate 
Before  it  falls  into  his  hand  ; 

The  bondman  of  the  cloister  so 
All  that  he  does  receive  does  always  owe. 

And  still  as  time  come  in  it  goes  away, 

Not  to  enjoy,  but  debts  to  pay. 

Unhappy  slave,  and  pupil  to  a bell 

Which  his  hour’s  work,  as  well  as  hour’s  does  tell ! 

Unhappy  till  the  last,  the  kind  releasing  knell. 

VI. 

If  Life  should  a well-ordered  poem  be 
(In  which  he  only  hits  the  white 


OP  LIBERTY. 


43 


Who  joins  true  profit  with  the  best  delight), 

The  more  heroic  strain  let  others  take, 

Mine  the  Pindaric  way  I’ll  make, 

The  matter  shall  be  grave,  the  numbers  loose  and 
free. 

It  shall  not  keep  one  settled  pace  of  time, 

In  the  same  tune  it  shall  not  always  chime, 

Nor  shall  each  day  just  to  his  neighbour  rhyme. 

A thousand  liberties  it  shall  dispense, 

And  yet  shall  manage  all  without  offence 
Or  to  the  sweetness  of  the  sound,  or  greatness  of 
the  sense; 

Nor  shall  it  never  from  one  subject  start, 

Nor  seek  transitions  to  depart, 

Nor  its  set  way  o’er  stiles  and  bridges  make, 

Nor  thorough  lanes  a compass  take 
As  if  it  feared  some  trespass  to  commit, 

When  the  wide  air ’s  a road  for  it. 

So  the  imperial  eagle  does  not  stay 
Till  the  whole  carcase  he  devour 
That’s  fallen  into  its  power  ; 

As  if  his  generous  hunger  understood 


44 


cowley’s  essays. 


That  he  can  never  want  plenty  of  food, 

He  only  sucks  the  tasteful  blood, 

And  to  fresh  game  flies  cheerfully  away  ; 

To  kites  and  meaner  birds  he  leaves  the  mangled 


prey. 


OF  SOLITUDE. 


<c  Nunquam  minus  solus , quam  cum  solus”  is  now 
become  a very  vulgar  saying.  Every  man  and 
almost  every  boy  for  these  seventeen  hundred  years 
has  had  it  in  his  mouth.  But  it  was  at  first  spoken 
by  the  excellent  Scipio,  who  was  without  question 
a most  worthy,  most  happy,  and  the  greatest  of  all 
mankind.  His  meaning  no  doubt  was  this  : that 
he  found  more  satisfaction  to  his  mind,  and  more 
improvement  of  it  by  solitude  than  by  company ; 
and  to  show  that  he  spoke  not  this  loosely  or  out 
of  vanity,  after  he  had  made  Borne  mistress  of 
almost  the  whole  world,  he  retired  himself  from  it 
by  a voluntary  exile,  and  at  a private  house  in  the 
middle  of  a wood  near  Linternum  passed  the  re- 
mainder of  his  glorious  life  no  less  gloriously. 
This  house  Seneca  went  to  see  so  long  after  with 
great  veneration,  and,  among  other  things,  describe* 


46 


COWLEY’S  ESSAYS. 


his  bath  to  have  been  of  so  mean  a structure,  that 
now,  says  he,  the  basest  of  the  people  would  de- 
spise them,  and  cry  out,  “ Poor  Scipio  understood 
not  how  to  live.”  What  an  authority  is  here  for 
the  credit  of  retreat ! and  happy  had  it  been  for 
Hannibal  if  adversity  could  have  taught  him  as 
much  wisdom  as  was  learnt  by  Scipio  from  the 
highest  prosperities.  This  would  be  no  wonder  if 
it  were  as  truly  as  it  is  colourably  and  wittily  said 
by  Monsieur  de  Montaigne,  that  ambition  itself 
might  teach  us  to  love  solitude  : there  is  nothing 
does  so  much  hate  to  have  companions.  It  is  true, 
it  loves  to  have  its  elbows  free,  it  detests  to  have 
company  on  either  side,  but  it  delights  above  all 
things  in  a train’  behind,  aye,  and  ushers,  too,  be- 
fore it.  But  the  greater  part  of  men  are  so  far  from 
the  opinion  of  that  noble  Homan,  that  if  they 
chance  at  any  time  to  be  without  company  they 
are  like  a becalmed  ship  ; they  never  move  but 
by  the  wind  of  other  men’s  breath,  and  have 
no  oars  of  their  own  to  steer  withal.  It  is  very 
fantastical  and  contradictory  in  human  nature,. 


OF  SOLITUDE. 


47 


that  men  should  love  themselves  above  all  the  rest 
of  the  world,  and  yet  never  endure  to  be  with 
themselves.  When  they  are  in  love  with  a 'mis- 
tress, all  other  persons  are  importunate  and  burden- 
some to  them.  “ Tecum  vivere  amem , tecum  obeam 
lubens”  They  would  live  and  die  with  her  alone. 

Sic  ego  secretis  possum  bene  vivere  silvis 
Qua  nulla  humano  sit  via  trita  pede , 

Tu  mihi  cur  arum  requies , tu  node  vel  atrA 
Lumen , et  in  solis  tu  mihi  turba  locis . 

With  thee  for  ever  I in  woods  could  rest, 

Where  never  human  foot  the  ground  has  pressed  ; 
Thou  from  all  shades  the  darkness  canst  exclude, 
And  from  a desert  banish  solitude. 

And  yet  our  dear  self  is  so  wearisome  to  us  that 
we  can  scarcely  support  its  conversation  for  an 
hour  together.  This  is  such  an  odd  temper  of 
mind  as  Catullus  expresses  towards  one  of  his 
mistresses,  whom  we  may  suppose  to  have  been  of 
a very  unsociable  humour. 


48 


COWLEY  S ESSAYS. 


Odi  et  Amo , qua  navi  id  faciam  ratione  requiris  ? 

Nescio , sed  fieri  sentio , et  excrucior. 

I hate,  and  yet  I love  thee  too  ; 

How  can  that  be  ? I know  not  how  ; 

Only  that  so  it  is  I know, 

And  feel  with  torment  that  ’tis  so. 

It  is  a deplorable  condition  this,  and  drives  a 
man  sometimes  to  pitiful  shifts  in  seeking  how  to 
avoid  himself. 

The  truth  of  the  matter  is,  that  neither  he  who 
is  a fop  in  the  world  is  a fit  man  to  be  alone,  nor 
he  who  has  set  his  heart  much  upon  the  world, 
though  he  has  ever  so  much  understanding;  so 
that  solitude  can  be  well  fitted  and  set  right  but 
upon  a very  few  persons.  They  must  have  enough 
knowledge  of  the  world  to  see  the  vanity  of  it,  and 
enough  virtue  to  despise  all  vanity ; if  the  mind 
be  possessed  with  any  lust  or  passions,  a man  had 
better  be  in  a fair  than  in  a wood  alone.  They 
may,  like  petty  thieves,  cheat  us  perhaps,  and  pick 
our  pockets  in  the  midst  of  company,  but  like 


OF  SOLITUDE. 


49 


robbers,  they  use  to  strip  and  bind,  or  murder  us 
when  they  catch  us  alone.  This  is  but  to  retreat 
from  men,  and  fall  into  the  hands  of  devils.  It 
is  like  the  punishment  of  parricides  among  the 
Homans,  to  be  sewed  into  a bag  with  an  ape,  a 
dog,  and  a serpent.  The  first  work,  therefore,  that 
a man  must  do  to  make  himself  capable  of  the 
good  of  solitude  is  the  very  eradication  of  all  lusts, 
for  how  is  it  possible  for  a man  to  enjoy  himself 
while  his  affections  are  tied  to  things  without  him- 
self? In  the  second  place,  he  must  learn  the  art 
and  get  the  habit  of  thinking ; for  this  too,  no  less 
than  well  speaking,  depends  upon  much  practice ; 
and  cogitation  is  the  thing  which  distinguishes  the 
solitude  of  a god  from  a wild  beast.  Now  because 
the  soul  of  man  is  not  by  its  own  nature  or  obser- 
vation furnished  with  sufficient  materials  to  work 
upon ; it  is  necessary  for  it  to  have  continual 
resource  to  learning  and  books  for  fresh  sup- 
plies, so  that  the  solitary  life  will  grow  indigent, 
and  be  ready  to  starve  without  them ; but  if 
once  we  be  thoroughly  engaged  in  the  love  of 


50 


cowley’s  essays. 


letters,  instead  of  being  wearied  with  the  length 
of  any  day,  we  shall  only  complain  of  the  short- 
ness of  our  whole  life. 

0 vita,  stulto  longa , sapienti  brevis  ! 

0 life,  long  to  the  fool,  short  to  the  wise  ! 

The  First  Minister  of  State  has  not  so  much 
business  in  public  as  a wise  man  has  in  private ; if 
the  one  have  little  leisure  to  be  alone,  the  other 
has  less  leisure  to  be  in  company ; the  one  has  but 
part  of  the  affairs  of  one  nation,  the  other  all  the 
works  of  God  and  nature  under  his  consideration. 
There  is  no  saying  shocks  me  so  much  as  that 
which  I hear  very  often,  “ That  a man  does  not 
know  how  to  pass  his  time.”  It  would  have  been 
but  ill  spoken  by  Methusalem  in  the  nine  hundred 
and  sixty-ninth  year  of  his  life,  so  far  it  is  from  us, 
who  have  not  time  enough  to  attain  to  the  utmost 
perfection  of  any  part  of  any  science,  to  have  cause 
to  complain  that  we  are  forced  to  be  idle  for  want 
of  work.  But  this  you  will  say  is  work  only  for 
the  learned,  others  are  not  capable  either  of  the 


OF  SOLITUDE. 


51 


employments  or  the  divertisements  that  arise  from 
letters.  I know  they  are  not,  and  therefore  can- 
not much  recommend  solitude  to  a man  totally 
illiterate.  But  if  any  man  be  so  unlearned  as  to 
want  entertainment  of  the  little  intervals  of  acci- 
dental solitude,  which  frequently  occur  in  almost 
all  conditions  (except  the  very  meanest  of  the 
people,  who  have  business  enough  in  the  necessary 
provisions  for  life),  it  is  truly  a great  shame  both 
to  his  parents  and  himself ; for  a very  small  portion 
of  any  ingenious  art  will  stop  up  all  those  gaps  of 
our  time,  either  music,  or  painting,  or  designing, 
or  chemistry,  or  history,  or  gardening,  or  twenty 
other  things,  will  do  it  usefully  and  pleasantly  ; 
and  if  he  happen  to  set  his  affections  upon  poetry 
(which  I do  not  advise  him  too  immoderately)  that 
will  overdo  it ; no  wood  will  be  thick  enough  to 
hide  him  from  the  importunities  of  company  or 
business,  which  would  abstract  him  from  his 
beloved. 

0 quis  vie  gelidis  sub  montibus  Hcemi 

Sistat , et  ingenti  ramorum  protegat  umbrd  ? 


0.  OF  4tL.  Ub' 


52 


COWLEY’S  ESSAYS. 


r. 

Hail,  old  patrician  trees,  so  great  and  good  ! 
Hail,  ye  plebeian  underwood  ! 

Where  the  poetic  birds  rejoice, 

And  for  their  quiet  nests  and  plenteous  food 
Pay  with  their  grateful  voice. 

ii. 

Hail,  the  poor  Muses’  richest  manor  seat ! 

Ye  country  houses  and  retreat 
Which  all  the  happy  gods  so  love, 

That  for  you  oft  they  quit  their  bright  and  great 
Metropolis  above. 

in. 

Here  Nature  does  a house  for  me  erect, 

Nature  the  wisest  architect, 

Who  those  fond  artists  does  despise 
That  can  the  fair  and  living  trees  neglect, 

Yet  the  dead  timber  prize. 

IV. 

Here  let  me,  careless  .and  unthoughtful  lying, 
Hear  the  soft  winds,  above  me  flying, 


OF  SOLITUDE. 


53 


With  all  their  wanton  boughs  dispute, 

And  the  more  tuneful  birds  to  both  replying, 
Nor  be  myself  too  mute. 

v. 

A sil  ver  stream  shall  roll  his  waters  near, 
Gilt  with  the  sunbeams  here  and  there, 

On  whose  enamelled  bank  111  walk, 

And  see  how  prettily  they  smile,  and  hear 
How  prettily  they  talk. 

VI. 

Ah  wretched,  and  too  solitary  he 
Who  loves  not  his  own  company  ! 

Hell  feel  the  weight  oft  many  a day. 
Unless  he  call  in  sin  or  vanity 
To  help  to  bear!  away. 

VII. 

Oh  solitude,  first  state  of  human-kind  ! 
Which  blest  remained  till  man  did  find 
Even  his  own  helper’s  company. 

As  soon  as  two,  alas,  together  joined. 

The  serpent  made  up  three. 


54 


COWLEY'S  ESSAYS. 


VIII. 

Though  God  himself,  through  countless  ages,  thee 
His  sole  companion  chose  to  be, 

Thee,  sacred  Solitude  alone  ; 

Before  the  branchy  head  of  numbers  Three 
Sprang  from  the  trunk  of  One. 

IX. 

Thou  (though  men  think  thine  an  unactive  part) 
Dost  break  and  tame  th’  unruly  heart, 

Which  else  would  know  no  settled  pace, 

Making  it  move,  well  managed  by  thy  art, 

With  swiftness  and  with  grace. 

x. 

Thou  the  faint  beams  of  Reason’s  scattered  light 
Dost  like  a burning  glass  unite ; 

Dost  multiply  the  feeble  heat, 

And  fortify  the  strength,  till  thou  dost  bright 
And  noble  fires  beget. 

XI. 

Whilst  this  hard  truth  I teach,  methinks,  I see 
The  monster  London  laugh  at  me  ; 


OF  SOLITUDE. 


55 


I should  at  thee  too,  foolish  city, 

If  it  were  fit  to  laugh  at  misery. 

But  thy  estate,  I pity. 

XII. 

Let  but  thy  wicked  men  from  out  thee  go, 
And  the  fools  that  crowd  thee  so, — 
Even  thou,  who  dost  thy  millions  boast, 
A village  less  than  Islington  wilt  grow, 

A solitude  almost. 


56 


OF  OBSCURITY. 

Nam  neque  divitibus  continguni  gaudia  soils , 

Nec  vixit  male , qui  natus  moriensque  fefellit . 

God  made  not  pleasures  only  for  tlie  ricli, 

Nor  liave  those  men  without  their  share  too  lived,. 

Who  both  in  life  and  death  the  world  deceived. 

This  seems  a strange  sentence  thus  literally  trans- 
lated, and  looks  as  if  it  were  in  vindication  of  the 
men  of  business  (for  who  else  can  deceive  the 
world1?)  whereas  it  is  in  commendation  of  those 
who  live  and  die  so  obscurely,  that  the  world  takes 
no  notice  of  them.  This  Horace  calls  deceiving 
the  world,  and  in  another  place  uses  the  same 
phrase. 

Secretum  iter  et  fallentis  semita  vitce. 

The  secret  tracks  of  the  deceiving  life. 

It  is  very  elegant  in  Latin,  but  our  English 


OF  OBSCURITY. 


57 


word  will  hardly  bear  up  to  that  sense,  and  there- 
fore Mr.  Broome  translates  it  very  well  : 

Or  from  a life,  led  as  it.  were  by  stealth. 

Yet  we  say  in  our  language,  a thing  deceives  our 
sight,  when  it  passes  before  us  un perceived,  and 
we  may  say  well  enough  out  of  the  same  author  : 

Sometimes  with  sleep,  sometimes  with  wine  we  strive 

The  cares  of  life  and  troubles  to  deceive. 

But  that  is  not  to  deceive  the  world,  but  to  deceive 
ourselves,  as  Quintilian  says,  Vitam  fallere , To 
draw  on  still,  and  amuse,  and  deceive  our  life, 
till  it  be  advanced  insensibly  to  the  fatal  period, 
and  fall  into  that  pit  which  Nature  hath  prepared 
for  it.  The  meaning  of  all  this  is  no  more  than 
that  most  vulgar  saying,  Bene  qui  latuit , bene  vixit , 
He  has  lived  well,  who  has  lain  well  hidden. 
Which,  if  it  be  a truth,  the  world,  I’ll  swear,  is 
sufficiently  deceived.  For  my  part,  I think  it  is, 
and  that  the  pleasantest  condition  of  life,  is  in 
incognito.  What  a brave  privilege  is  it  to  be  free 


58 


COWLEY  S ESSAYS. 


from  all  contentions,  from  all  envying  or  being 
envied,  from  receiving  and  from  paying  all  kind  of 
ceremonies  ] It  is  in  my  mind  a very  delightful 
pastime,  for  two  good  and  agreeable  friends  to 
travel  up  and  down  together  in  places  where  they 
are  by  nobody  known,  nor  know  anybody.  It 
was  the  case  of  ^Eneas  and  his  Achates,  when 
they  walked  invisibly  about  the  fields  and  streets 
of  Carthage,  Yenus  herself 

A veil  of  thickened  air  around  them  cast, 

That  none  might  know,  or  see  them  as  they  passed. 

The  common  story  of  Demosthenes’s  confession 
that  he  had  taken  great  pleasure  in  hearing  of  a 
Tanker-woman  say  as  he  passed,  “This  is  that 
Demosthenes,”  is  wonderful  ridiculous  from  so 
solid  an  orator.  I myself  have  often  met  with 
that  temptation  to  vanity  (if  it  were  any),  but  am 
so  far  from  finding  it  any  pleasure,  that  it  only 
makes  me  run  faster  from  the  place,  till  I get,  as  it 
were,  out  of  sight  shot.  Democritus  relates,  and 
in  such  a manner,  as  if  he  gloried  in  the  good 


OF  OBSCURITY. 


59 


fortune  and  commodity  of  it,  that  when  he  came 
to  Athens,  nobody  there  did  so  much  as  take 
notice  of  him  ; and  Epicurus  lived  there  very  well, 
that  is,  lay  hid  many  years  in  his  gardens,  so 
famous  since  that  time,  with  his  friend  Metro- 
dorus  : after  whose  death,  making  in  one  of  his 
letters  a kind  commemoration  of  the  happiness 
which  they  two  had  enjoyed  together,  he  adds  at 
last,  that  he  thought  it  no  disparagement  to  those 
great  felicities  of  their  life,  that  in  the  midst  of 
the  most  talked  of  and  talking  country  in 
the  world,  they  had  lived  so  long,  not  only  with- 
out fame,  but  almost  without  being  heard  of. 
And  yet  within  a very  few  years  afterward,  there 
were  no  two  names  of  men  more  known  or  more 
generally  celebrated.  If  we  engage  into  a large 
acquaintance  and  various  familiarities,  we  set 
open  our  gates  to  the  invaders  of  most  of  our 
time  : we  expose  our  life  to  a Quotidian  Ague  of 
frigid  impertinences,  which  would  make  a wise 
man  tremble  to  think  of.  Now,  as  for  being 
known  much  by  sight,  and  pointed  at,  I cannot 


dO 


cowley’s  essays. 


comprehend  the  honour  that  lies  in  that.  What- 
soever it  be,  every  mountebank  has  it  more  than 
the  best  doctor,  and  the  hangman  more  than  the 
Lord  Chief  Justice  of  a city.  Every  creature  has 
it  both  of  nature  and  art  if  it  be  any  ways  extra- 
ordinary. It  was  as  often  said,  “ This  is  that 
Bucephalus/’  or,  “ This  is  that  Incitatus,”  when 
they  were  led  prancing  through  the  streets,  as 
u This  is  that  Alexander,”  or,  “ This  is  that 
Domitian  ” ; and  truly  for  the  latter,  I take 
Incitatus  to  have  been  a much  more  honourable 
beast  than  his  master,  and  more  deserving  the 
consulship  than  he  the  empire.  I love  and 
commend  a true  good  fame,  because  it  is  the 
shadow  of  virtue  ; not  that  it  doth  any  good  to  the 
body  which  it  accompanies,  but  ’tis  an  efficacious 
shadow,  and  like  that  of  St.  Peter  cures  the 
diseases  of  others.  The  best  kind  of  glory,  no 
doubt,  is  that  which  is  reflected  from  honesty,  such 
as  was  the  glory  of  Cato  and  Aristides,  but  it  was 
harmful  to  them  both,  and  is  seldom  beneficial  to 
any  man  whilst  he  lives ; what  it  is  to  him  after 


OF  OBSCURITY. 


61 


his  death,  I cannot  say,  because  I love  not 
philosophy  merely  notional  and  conjectural,  and 
no  man  who  has  made  the  experiment  has  been 
so  kind  as  to  come  back  to  inform  us.  Upon 
the  whole  matter,  I account  a person  who  has  a 
moderate  mind  and  fortune,  and  lives  in  the  con- 
versation of  two  or  three  agreeable  friends,  with 
little  commerce  in  the  world  besides ; who  is 
esteemed  well  enough  by  his  few  neighbours  that 
know  him,  and  is  truly  irreproachable  by  anybody  ; 
and  so  after  a healthful  quiet  life,  before  the  great 
inconveniences  of  old  age,  goes  more  silently  out 
of  it  than  he  came  in  (for  I would  not  have  him 
so  much  as  cry  in  the  exit) ; this  innocent 
deceiver  of  the  word,  as  Horace  calls  him,  this 
Muta  Persona,  I take  to  have  been  more  happy  in' 
his  part,  than  the  greatest  actors  that  fill  the  stage 
with  show  and  noise,  nay,  even  than  Augustus 
himself,  who  asked  with  his  last  breath,  whether 
he  had  not  played  his  farce  very  well. 


62 


COWLEY  S ESSAYS. 


Seneca , ex  Thyeste , 

£.  Chor. 

Stet  quicunque  volet , potens , 
culmin # lubrico , 

Upon  the  slippery  tops  of  human  state, 

The  gilded  pinnacles  of  fate, 

Let  others  proudly  stand,  and  for  a while, 
The  giddy  danger  to  beguile, 

With  joy  and  with  disdain  look  down  on  all, 
Till  their  heads  turn,  and  down  they  fall. 
Me,  O ye  gods,  on  earth,  or  else  so  near 
That  I no  fall  to  earth  may  fear, 

And,  O ye  gods,  at  a good  distance  seat 
From  the  long  ruins  of  the  great  ! 

Here  wrapped  in  the  arms  of  quiet  let  me  lie, 
Quiet,  companion  of  obscurity. 

Here  let  my  life,  with  as  much  silence  slide, 
As  time  that  measures  it  does  glide. 

Nor  let  the  breath  of  infamy  or  fame, 

From  town  to  town  echo  about  my  name  ; 
Nor  let  my  homely  death  embroidered  be 
With  scutcheon  or  with  elegy. 


OF  OBSCURITY. 


63 


An  old  plebeian  let  me  die, 

Alas,  all  then  are  such,  as  well  as  I. 

To  him,  alas,  to  him,  I fear, 

The  face  of  death  will  terrible  appear ; 

Who  in  his  life,  flattering  his  senseless  pride 
By  being  known  to  all  the  world  beside, 
Does  not  himself,  when  he  is  dying,  know  ; 
Nor  what  he  is,  nor  whither  he’s  to  go. 


0E  AGEICULTUEE. 


The  first  wish  of  Virgil  (as  you  will  find  anon  by 
his  verses),  was  to  be  a good  philosopher;  the 
second,  a good  husbandman;  and  God  (whom  he 
seemed  to  understand  better  than  most  of  the  most 
learned  heathens)  dealt  with  him  just  as  he  did 
with  Solomon  : because  he  prayed  for  wisdom  in 
the  first  place,  he  added  all  things  else  which  were 
subordinately  to  be  desired.  He  made  him  one  of 
the  best  philosophers,  and  best  husbandmen,  and 
to  adorn  and  communicate  both  those  faculties,  the 
best  poet.  He  made  him,  besides  all  this,  a rich 
man,  and  a man  who  desired  to  be  no  richer,  0 
fortunatus  nimium  et  bona  qui  sua  novit.  To 
be  a husbandman,  is  but  a retreat  from  the  city ; 
to  be  a philosopher,  from  the  world  ; or  rather,  a 
retreat  from  the  world,  as  it  is  Man’s — into  the 
world,  as  it  is  God’s.  But  since  Nature  denies  to 


OF  AGRICULTURE. 


65 


most  men  the  capacity  or  appetite,  and  Fortune 
allows  but  to  a very  few  the  opportunities  or 
possibility,  of  applying  themselves  wholly  to  philo- 
sophy, the  best  mixture  of  human  affairs  that  we 
can  make  are  the  employments  of  a country  life. 
It  is,  as  Columella  calls  it,  Res  sine  dubitatione 
proximo,  et  quasi  consanguinea  sapientice , the 
nearest  neighbour,  or  rather  next  in  kindred  to 
Philosophy.  Yarro  says  the  principles  of  it  are 
the  same  which  Ennius  made  to  be  the  principles 
of  all  nature ; earth,  water,  air,  and  the  sun.  It 
does  certainly  comprehend  more  parts  of  philo- 
sophy than  any  one  profession,  art,  or  science  in 
the  world  besides ; and,  therefore,  Cicero  says,  the 
pleasures  of  a husbandman,  Mihi  ad  sapientis  vitam 
proxime  videntur  accedere , come  very  nigh  to  those 
of  a philosopher.  There  is  no  other  sort  of  life 
that  affords  so  many  branches  of  praise  to  a 
panegyrist : The  utility  of  it  to  a man’s  self ; the 
usefulness,  or,  rather,  necessity  of  it  to  all  the  rest 
of  mankind ; the  innocence,  the  pleasure,  the  an- 
tiquity, the  dignity.  The  utility  (I  mean  plainly 
c— 28 


66 


cowley’s  essays. 


the  lucre  of  it)  is  not  so  great  now  in  our  nation  as 
arises  from  merchandise  and  the  trading  of  the 
city,  from  whence  many  of  the  best  estates  and 
chief  honours  of  the  kingdom  are  derived  ; we 
have  no  men  now  fetched  from  the  plough  to  be 
made  lords,  as  they  were  in  Home  to  be  made 
consuls  and  dictators,  the  reason  of  which  I con- 
ceive to  be  from  an  evil  custom  now  grown  as 
strong  among  us  as  if  it  were  a law,  which  is,  that 
no  men  put  their  children  to  be  bred  up  appren- 
tices in  agriculture,  as  in  other  trades,  but  such 
who  are  so  poor,  that  when  they  come  to  be  men 
they  have  not  wherewithal  to  set  up  in  it,  and  so 
can  only  farm  some  small  parcel  of  ground,  the 
rent  of  which  devours  all  but  the  bare  subsistence 
of  the  tenant  ; whilst  they  who  are  proprietors  of 
the  land  are  either  too  proud  or,  for  want  of  that 
kind  of  education,  too  ignorant  to  improve  their 
estates,  though  the  means  of  doing  it  be  as  easy 
and  certain  in  this  as  in  any  other  track  of  com- 
merce. If  there  were  always  two  or  three  thou- 
sand youths,  for  seven  or  eight  years  bound  to  this 


OF  AGRICULTURE. 


67 


profession,  that  they  might  learn  the  whole  art  of  it, 
and  afterwards  be  enabled  to  be  masters  in  it,  by  a 
moderate  stock,  I cannot  doubt  but  that  we  should 
see  as  many  aldermen’s  estates  made  in  the  coun- 
try as  now  we  do  out  of  all  kind  of  merchandising 
in  the  city.  There  are  as  many  ways  to  be  rich ; and, 
which  is  better,  there  is  no  possibility  to  be  poor, 
without  such  negligence  as  can  neither  have  excuse 
nor  pity  ; for  a little  ground  will,  without  question, 
feed  a little  family,  and  the  superfluities  of  life 
(which  are  now  in  some  cases  by  custom  made 
almost  necessary)  must  be  supplied  out  of  the 
superabundance  of  art  and  industry,  or  contemned 
by  as  great  a degree  of  philosophy.  As  for  the 
necessity  of  this  art,  it  is  evident  enough,  since 
this  can  live  without  all  others,  and  no  one  other 
without  this.  This  is  like  speech,  without  which 
the  society  of  men  cannot  be  preserved  ; the  others 
like  figures  and  tropes  of  speech  which  serve  only 
to  adorn  it.  Many  nations  have  lived,  and  some 
do  still,  without  any  art  but  this  ; not  so  elegantly, 
I confess,  but  still  they  live;  and  almost  all  the 


68 


cowley’s  essays. 


other  arts  which  are  here  practised  are  beholding 
to  them  for  most  of  their  materials.  The  inno- 
cence of  this  life  is  in  the  next  thing  for  which  I 
commend  it,  and  if  husbandmen  preserve  not  that, 
they  are  much  to  blame,  for  no  men  are  so  free 
from  the  temptations  of  iniquity.  They  live  by 
what  they  can  get  by  industry  from  the  earth,  and 
others  by  what  they  can  catch  by  craft  from  men. 
They  live  upon  an  estate  given  them  by  their 
mother,  and  others  upon  an  estate  cheated  from 
their  brethren.  They  live  like  sheep  and  kine,  by 
the  allowances  of  Nature,  and  others  like  wolves  and 
foxes  by  the  acquisitions  of  rapine ; and,  I hope,  I 
may  affirm  (without  any  offence  to  the  great)  that 
sheep  and  kine  are  very  useful,  and  that  wolves 
and  foxes  are  pernicious  creatures.  They  are, 
without  dispute,  of  all  men  the  most  quiet  and 
least  apt  to  be  inflamed  to  the  disturbance  of  the 
commonwealth ; their  manner  of  life  inclines 
them,  and  interest  binds  them,  to  love  peace.  In 
our  late  mad  and  miserable  civil  wars,  alj  other 
trades,  even  to  the  meanest,  set  forth  whole  troops, 


OF  AGRICULTURE. 


69 


and  raised  up  some  great  commanders,  who  became 
famous  and  mighty  for  the  mischiefs  they  had 
done.  But  I do  not  remember  the  name  of  any 
one  husbandman  who  had  so  considerable  a share 
in  the  twenty  years’  ruin  of  his  country,  as  to  de- 
serve the  curses  of  his  countrymen ; and  if  great 
delights  be  joined  with  so  much  innocence,  I think 
it  is  ill  done  of  men  not  to  take  them  here  where 
they  are  so  tame  and  ready  at  hand,  rather  than 
hunt  for  them  in  courts  and  cities,  where  they 
are  so  wild  and  the  chase  so  troublesome  and 
dangerous. 

We  are  here  among  the  vast  and  noble  scenes  of 
Nature  ; we  are  there  among  the  pitiful  shifts  of 
policy.  We  walk  here  in  the  light  and  open  ways 
of  the  divine  bounty  ; we  grope  there  in  the  dark 
and  confused  labyrinths  of  human  malice.  Our 
senses  are  here  feasted  with  the  clear  and  genuine 
taste  of  their  objects,  which  are  all  sophisticated 
there,  and  for  the  most  part  overwhelmed  with 
their  contraries.  Here  Pleasure  looks,  methinks, 
like  a beautiful,  constant,  and  modest  wife ; it  is 


70 


COWLEY’S  ES?A.YS. 


there  an  impudent,  fickle,  and  painted  harlot. 
Here  is  harmless  and  cheap  plenty,  there  guilty 
and  expenseful  luxury. 

I shall  only  instance  in  one  delight  more,  the 
most  natural  and  best  natured  of  all  others,  a per- 
petual companion  of  the  husbandman : and  that  is, 
the  satisfaction  of  looking  round  about  him,  and 
seeing  nothing  but  the  effects  and  improvements 
of  his  own  art  and  diligence  ; to  be  always  gather- 
ing of  some  fruits  of  it,  and  at  the  same  time  to 
behold  others  ripening,  and  others  . budding  ; to 
see  all  his  fields  and  gardens  covered  with  the 
beauteous  creatures  of  his  own  industry ; and  to 
see,  like  God,  that  all  his  works  are  good. 

Hinc  atque  hinc  glomerantur  Oreades  ; ipsi 

Agricolce  taciturn  pertentant  gaudia  pectus* 

On  his  heart-strings  a secret  joy  does  strike. 

The  antiquity  of  his  art  is  certainly  not  to  be 
contested  by  any  other.  The  three  first  men  in  the 
world  were  a gardener,  a plough  /nan,  and  a grazier  ; 
and  if  any  man  object  that  the  second  of  these  was 


OF  AGRICULTURE. 


71 


a murderer,  I desire  he  would  consider,  that  as  soon 
as  he  was  so,  he  quitted  our  profession  and  turned 
builder.  It  is  for  this  reason,  I suppose,  that  Eecle- 
siasticus  forbids  us  to  hate  husbandry;  because, 
says  he,  the  Most  High  has  created  it.  We  were 
all  born  to  this  art,  and  taught  by  nature  to 
nourish  our  bodies  by  the  same  earth  out  of  which 
they  were  made,  and  to  which  they  must  return 
and  pay  at  last  for  their  sustenance. 

Behold  the  original  and  primitive  nobility  of  all 
those  great  persons  who  are  too  proud  now  not 
only  to  till  the  ground,  but  almost  to  tread  upon 
it.  We  may  talk  what  we  please  of  lilies  and  lions 
rampant,  and  spread  eagles  in  fields  d’or  or 
d argent ; but  if  heraldry  were  guided  by  reason, 
a plough  in  a field  arable  would  be  the  most  noble 
and  ancient  arms. 

All  these  considerations  make  me  fall  into  the 
wonder  and  complaint  of  Columella,  how  it  should 
come  to  pass  that  all  arts  or  sciences  (for  the  dis- 
pute, which  is  an  art  and  which  is  a science,  does 
not  belong  to  the  curiosity  of  us  husbandmen), 


72 


COWLEY’S  ESSAYS. 


metaphvsic,  physic,  morality,  mathematics,  logic, 
rhetoric,  etc.,  which  are  all,  I grant,  good  and  useful 
faculties,  except  only  metaphysic,  which  I do  not 
know  whether  it  be  anything  or  no,  but  even 
vaulting,  fencing,  dancing,  attiring,  cookery,  carv- 
ing, and  such  like  vanities,  should  all  have  public 
schools  and  masters ; and  yet  that  we  should  never 
see  or  hear  of  any  man  who  took  upon  him  the 
profession  of  teaching  this  so  pleasant,  so  vir- 
tuous, so  profitable,  so  honourable,  so  necessary 
art. 

A man  would  think,  when  he’s  in  serious  humour, 
that  it  were  but  a vain,  irrational,  and  ridicu- 
lous thing  for  a great  company  of  men  and  women 
to  run  up  and  down  in  a room  together,  in  a hun- 
dred several  postures  and  figures,  to  no  purpose, 
and  with  no  design  ; and  therefore  dancing  was 
invented  first,  and  only  practised  anciently,  in  the 
ceremonies  of  the  heathen  religion,  which  consisted 
all  in  mummery  and  madness  ; the  latter  being  the 
chief  glory  of  the  worship,  and  accounted  divine 
inspiration.  This,  I say,  a severe  man  would  think. 


OF  AGRICULTURE. 


73 


though  I dare  not  determine  so  far  against  so  cus- 
tomary a part  now  of  good  breeding.  And  yet, 
who  is  there  among  our  gentry  that  does  not  enter- 
tain a dancing  master  for  his  children  as  soon  as 
they  are  able  to  walk  h But  did  ever  any  father 
provide  a tutor  for  Iris  son  to  instruct  him  betimes 
in  the  nature  and  improvements  of  that  land  which 
he  intended  to  leave  him  ] That  is  at  least  a super- 
fluity, and  this  a defect  in  our  manner  of  educa- 
tion ; and  therefore  I could  wish,  but  cannot  in 
these  times  much  hope  to  see  it,  that  one  college  in 
each  university  were  erected,  and  appropriated  to 
this  study,  as  well  as  there  are  to  medicine  and  the 
civil  law.  There  would  be  no  need  of  making  a 
body  of  scholars  and  fellows,  with  certain  endow- 
ments, as  in  other  colleges ; it  would  suffice  if,  after 
the  manner  of  Halls  in  Oxford,  there  were  only  four 
professors  constituted  (for  it  would  be  too  much 
work  for  only  one  master,  or  Principal,  as  they  call 
him  there)  to  teach  these  four  parts  of  it.  First, 
aration,  and  all  things  relating  to  it.  Secondly, 
pasturage;  thirdly,  gardens,  orchards,  vineyards, 


74 


COWLEY’S  ESSAYS. 


and  woods  ; fourthly,  all  parts  of  rural  economy, 
which  would  contain  the  government  of  bees,  swine, 
poultry,  decoys,  ponds,  etc.,  and  all  that  which  Yarro 
culls  Villaticas  Pastiones,  together  with  the  sports 
of  the  field,  which  ought  not  to  be  looked  upon 
only  as  pleasures,  but  as  parts  of  housekeeping,  and 
the  domestical  conservation  and  uses  of  all  that  is 
brought  in  by  industry  abroad.  The  business  of 
these  professors  should  not  be,  as  is  commonly 
practised  in  other  arts,  only  to  read  pompous  and 
superficial  lectures  out  of  Yirgil’s  Georgies,  Pliny, 
Yarro,  or  Columella,  but  to  instruct  their  pupils  in 
the  whole  method  and  course  of  this  study,  which 
might  be  run  through  perhaps  with  diligence  in  a 
year  or  two  ; and  the  continual  succession  of  scholars 
upon  a moderate  taxation  for  their  diet,  lodging, 
and  learning,  would  be  a sufficient  constant  revenue 
for  maintenance  of  the  house  and  the  professors, 
who  should  be  men  not  chosen  for  the  ostentation 
of  critical  literature,  but  for  solid  and  experimental 
knowledge  of  the  things  they  teach  such  men ; so 
industrious  and  public  spirited  as  I conceive  Mr. 


OF  AGRICULTURE. 


75 


Hartlib  to  be,  if  the  gentleman  be  yet  alive.  But 
it  is  needless  to  speak  further  of  my  thoughts  of 
this  design,  unless  the  present  disposition  of  the 
age  allowed  more  probability  of  bringing  it  into 
execution.  What  I have  further  to  say  of  the 
country  life  shall  be  borrowed  from  the  poets,  who 
were  always  the  most  faithful  and  affectionate 
friends  to  it.  Poetry  was  born  among  the  shep- 
herds. 

Nescio  qua  natale  solum  dulcedine  musas 
Bucit , et  immemores  non  sinit  esse  sui. 

The  Muses  still  love  their  own  native  place, 

’T  has  secret  charms  which  nothing  can  deface. 

The  truth  is,  no  other  place  is  proper  for  their 
* work.  One  might  as  well  undertake  to  dance  in  a 
crowd,  as  to  make  good  verses  in  the  midst  of  noise 
and  tumult. 

As  well  might  corn  as  verse  in  cities  grow  ; 

In  vain  the  thankless  glebe  we  plough  and  sow, 
Against  th’  unnatural  soil  in  vain  we  strive, 

’Tis  not  a ground  in  which  these  plants  will  thrive. 


76 


cowley’s  essays. 


It  will  bear  nothing  but  the  nettles  or  thorns  of 
satire,  which  grow  most  naturally  in  the  worst 
earth ; and  therefore  almost  all  poets,  except  those 
who  were  not  able  to  eat  bread  without  the  bounty 
of  great  men,  that  is,  without  what  they  could  get 
by  flattering  of  them,  have  not  only  withdrawn 
themselves  from  the  vices  and  vanities  of  the  grand 
world  ( pariter  vitiisque  jocisque  altius  humanis 
exeruere  caput ) into  the  innocent  happiness  of  a 
retired  life ; but  have  commended  and  adorned 
nothing  so  much  by  their  ever-living  poems.  Hesiod 
was  the  first  or  second  poet  in  the  world  that 
remains  yet  extant  (if  Homer,  as  some  think,  pre- 
ceded him,  but  I rather  believe  they  were  contem- 
poraries), and  he  is  the  first  writer,  too,  of  the  art 
of  husbandry.  He  has  contributed,  says  Columella, 
not  a little  to  our  profession  ; I suppose  he  means 
not  a little  honour,  for  the  matter  of  his  instructions 
is  not  very  important.  His  great  antiquity  is  visible 
through  the  gravity  and  simplicity  of  his  style. 
The  most  acute  of  all  his  sayings  concerns  our 
purpose  very  much,  and  is  couched  in  the  reverend 


OF  AGRICULTURE. 


77 

obscurity  of  an  oracle.  nAeW  rmu<rv  ttclvtos.  The  half  is 
more  than  the  whole.  The  occasion  of  the  speech 
is  this  : his  brother  Perses  had  by  corrupting  some 
great  men  (Ba<ri\rjas  a upocpayovs,  great  bribe-eaters 
he  calls  them)  gotten  from  him  the  half  of  his  estate. 
It  is  no  matter,  says  he,  they  have  not  done  me 
so  much  prejudice  as  they  imagine. 

N^pnot,  ov 8’  'iaaCLV  oacp  ir\€Oi / r)/uu(Tv  it aurds, 

OvS ’ ocrov  iu  fia\dxy  Te  teal  aatyofttXcp  fAsy'  oveias, 

K pvxpaures  yap  exovan  deol  ^iov  avOpcoTroio'i. 

Unhappy  they  to  whom  G-od  has  not  revealed 
By  a strong  light  which  must  their  sense  control, 
That  half  a great  estate’s  more  than  the  whole. 
Unhappy,  from  whom  still  concealed  does  lie 
Of  roots  and  herbs  the  wholesome  luxury. 

This  I conceive  to  have  been  honest  Hesiod’s 
meaning.  From  Homer  we  must  not  expect  much 
-concerning  our  affairs.  He  was  blind,  and  could 
neither  work  in  the  country  nor  enjoy  the  pleasures 
of  it ; his  helpless  poverty  was  likeliest  to  be  sus- 
tained in  the  richest  places,  he  was  to  delight  the 
Grecians  with  fine  tales  of  the  wars  and  adventures 


78 


COWLEY’S  ESSAYS. 


of  their  ancestors ; his  subject  removed  him  from 
all  commerce  with  us,  and  yet,  me  thinks,  he  made 
a shift  to  show  his  goodwill  a little.  For  though 
he  could  do  us  no  honour  in  the  person  of  his  hero 
Ulysses  (much  less  of  Achilles),  because  his  whole 
time  was  consumed  in  wars  and  voyages,  yet  he 
makes  his  father  Laertes  a gardener  all  that  while, 
and  seeking  his  consolation  for  the  absence  of  his 
son  in  the  pleasure  of  planting  and  even  dunging 
his  own  grounds.  Yet,  see,  he  did  not  contemn  us 
peasants;  nay,  so  far  was  he  from  that  insolence, 
that  he  always  styles  Eumseus,  who  kept  the  hogs 
with  wonderful  respect,  ATor  v<\>opfrov,  the  divine 
swine-herd ; he  could  have  done  no  more  for  Mene- 
laus  or  Agamemnon.  And  Theocritus  (a  very  an- 
cient poet,  but  he  was  one  of  our  own  tribe,  for  he 
wrote  nothing  but  pastorals)  gave  the  same  epithet 
to  a husbandman  E/miSero  Albs  aypcorrjs . The  divine 
husbandman  replied  to  Hercules,  who  was  but  A ?os 
himself.  These  were  civil  Greeks,  and  who  under- 
stood the  dignity  of  our  calling.  Among  the 
Romans,  we  have  in  the  first  place  our  truly  divine 


OF  AGRICULTURE. 


79 


Virgil,  wlio,  though  by  the  favour  of  Msecenas  and 
Augustus  he  might  have  been  one  of  the  chief  men 
of  Home,  yet  chose  rather  to  employ  much  of  his 
time  in  the  exercise,  and  much  of  his  immortal 
wit  in  the  praise  and  instructions  of  a rustic  life ; 
who,  though  he  had  written  before  whole  books  of 
Pastorals  and  Georgies,  could  not  abstain  in  his 
great  and  imperial  poem  from  describing  Evander, 
one  of  his  best  princes,  as  living  just  after  the 
homely  manner  of  an  ordinary  countryman.  He 
seats  him  in  a throne  of  maple,  and  lays  him  but 
upon  a bear’s  skin,  the  kine  and  oxen  are  lowing 
in  his  courtyard,  the  birds  under  the  eaves  of  his 
window  call  him  up  in  the  morning ; and  when  he 
goes  abroad  only  two  dogs  go  along  with  him  for 
his  guard.  At  last,  when  he  brings  ^Eneas  into 
his  royal  cottage,  he  makes  him  say  this  memo- 
rable compliment,  greater  than  ever  yet  was 
spoken  at  the  Escurial,  the  Louvre,  or  our  White* 
hall. 

Hcec,  inquit , limina  victor 
Alcides  subiit , Ticec  ilium  Regia  cejgit , 


80 


cowley’s  essays. 


Aude,  Hospes  contemnere  ope 9,  et  te  quoque  dignum 
Finge  Deo)  rebusque  xeni  non  asper  egenis. 

This  humble  roof,  this  rustic  court,  said  he, 

Received  Alcides  crowned  with  victory. 

Scorn  not,  great  guest,  the  steps  where  he  has  trod, 

But  contemn  wealth,  and  imitate  a god. 

The  next  man  whom  we  are  much  obliged  to, 
both  for  his  doctrine  and  example,  is  the  next  best 
poet  in  the  world  to  Virgil : his  dear  friend  Horace, 
who,  when  Augustus  had  desired  Mecsenas  to  per- 
suade him  to  come  and  live  domestically  and  at 
the  same  table  with  him,  and  to  be  Secretary  of 
State  of  the  whole  world  under  him,  or  rather 
jointly  with  him  (for  he  says,  “ ut  nos  in  Epistolis 
scribendis  adjuvet ,”)  could  not  be  tempted  to  forsake 
his  Sabine  or  Tiburtine  Manor,  for  so  rich  and  so 
glorious  a trouble.  There  was  never,  I think,  such 
an  example  as  this  in  the  world,  that  he  should 
have  so  much  moderation  and  courage  as  to  refuse 
an  offer  of  such  greatness,  and  the  Emperor  so 
much  generosity  and  good  nature  as  not  to  be  at 
all  offended  with  his  refusal,  but  to  retain  still  the 


OF  AGRICULTURE. 


81 


Same  kindness,  and  express  it  often  to  him  in  most 
friendly  and  familiar  letters,  part  of  which  are  still 
extant.  If  I should  produce  all  the  passages  of 
this  excellent  author  upon  the  several  subjects 
which  I treat  of  in  this  book,  I must  be  obliged  to 
translate  half  his  works  ; of  which  I may  say  more 
truly  than,  in  my  opinion,  he  did  of  Homer,  “ Qui 
quid  sit  pulchrum,  quid  iurpe , quid  utile , quid 
non , plenius , et  melius  Chrysippo , et  Crantore 
dicit.”  I shall  content  myself  upon  this  particular 
theme  with  three  only,  one  out  of  his  Odes,  the 
other  out  of  his  Satires,  the  third  out  of  his 
Epistles,  and  shall  forbear  to  collect  the  suffrages 
of  all  other  poets,  which  may  be  found  scattered  up 
and  down  through  all  their  writings,  and  especially 
in  Martial’s.  But  I must  not  omit  to  make  some 
excuse  for  the  bold  undertaking  of  my  own  un- 
skilful pencil  upon  the  beauties  of  a face  that  has 
been  drawn  before  by  so  many  great  masters, 
especially  that  I should  dare  to  do  it  in  Latin 
verses  (though  of  another  kind)  and  have  the  con- 
fidence to  translate  them.  I can  only  say  that  I 


82 


cowley’s  essays. 


love  the  matter,  and  that  ought  to  cover  many 
faults ; and  that  I run  not  to  contend  with  those 
before  me.  but  follow  to  applaud  them. 


Virg.  Georg. 

0 fortunatus  nimium , etc. 

A TRANSLATION  OUT  OF  VIRGIL. 


Oh  happy  (if  his  happiness  he  knows) 

The  country  swain,  on  whom  kind  Heaven  bestows 
At  home  all  riches  that  wise  Nature  needs; 

Whom  the  just  earth  with  easy  plenty  feeds 
JTis  true,  no  morning  tide  of  clients  comes, 

And  fills  the  painted  channels  of  his  rooms, 
Adoring  the  rich  figures,  as  they  pass, 

In  tapestry  wrought,  or  cut  in  living  brass  ; 

Nor  is  his  wool  superfluously  dyed 
With  the  dear  poison  of  Assyrian  pride  : 

Nor  do  Arabian  perfumes  vainly  spoil 
The  native  use  and  sweetness  of  his  oil. 


OF  AGRICULTURE. 


83 


Instead  of  these,  his  calm  and  harmless  life, 

Free  from  tlT  alarms  of  fear,  and  storms  of  strife, 
Does  with  substantial  blessedness  abound, 

And  the  soft  wings  of  peace  cover  him  round  : 
Through  artless  grots  the  murmuring  waters  glide ; 
Thick  trees  both  against  heat  and  cold  provide, 
From  whence  the  birds  salute  him ; and  his  ground 
With  lowing  herds,  and  bleating  sheep  does  sound; 
And  all  the  rivers,  and  the  forests  nigh, 

Both  food  and  game  and  exercise  supply. 

Here  a well-hardened,  active  youth  we  see, 

Taught  the  great  art  of  cheerful  poverty. 

Here,  in  this  place  alone,  there  still  do  shine 
Some  streaks  of  love,  both  human  and  divine  ; 
From  hence  Astraea  took  her  flight,  and  here 
Still  her  last  footsteps  upon  earth  appear. 

Tis  true,  the  first  desire  which  does  control 
All  the  inferior  wheels  that  move  my  soul, 

Is,  that  the  Muse  me  her  high  priest  would  make  ; 
Into  her  holiest  scenes  of  mystery  take, 

And  open  there  to  my  mind’s  purged  eye 
Those  wonders  which  to  sense  the  gods  deny; 


cowley’s  essays. 


84 

How  in  the  moon  such  chance  of  shapes  is  found  : 
The  moon,  the  changing  world’s  eternal  bound. 
What  shakes  the  solid  earth,  what  strong  disease 
Dares  trouble  the  firm  centre’s  ancient  ease  ; 

What  makes  the  sea  retreat,  and  what  advance  : 
Varieties  too  regular  for  chance. 

What  drives  the  chariot  on  of  winter’s  light, 

And  stops  the  lazy  waggon  of  the  night. 

But  if  my  dull  and  frozen  blood  deny 
To  send  forth  spirits  that  raise  a soul  so  high  ; 

In  the  next  place,  let  woods  and  rivers  be 
My  quiet,  though  unglorious,  destiny. 

In  life’s  cool  vale  let  my  low  scene  be  laid ; 

Cover  me,  gods,  with  Tempe’s  thickest  shade. 
Happy  the  man,  I grant,  thrice  happy  he 
Who  can  through  gross  effects  their  causes  see : 
Whose  courage  from  the  deeps  of  knowledge  springs, 
Kor  vainly  fears  inevitable  things ; 

But  does  his  walk  of  virtue  calmly  go, 

Through  all  th’  alarms  of  death  and  hell  below. 
Happy  ! but  next  such  conquerors,  happy  they, 
Whose  humble  life  lies  not  in  fortune’s  way. 


OP  AGRICULTURE. 


85 


They  -unconcerned  from  their  safe  distant  seat 
Behold  the  rods  and  sceptres  of  the  great. 

The  quarrels  of  the  mighty,  without  fear, 

And  the  descent  of  foreign  troops  they  hear. 

Nor  can  even  Borne  their  steady  course  misguide, 
With  all  the  lustre  of  her  perishing  pride. 

Them  never  yet  did  strife  or  avarice  draw 
Into  the  noisy  markets  of  the  law, 

The  camps  of  gowned  war,  nor  do  they  live 
By  rules  or  forms  that  many  mad  men  give, 

Duty  for  nature’s  bounty  they  repay, 

And  her  sole  laws  religiously  obey. 

Some  with  bold  labour  plough  the  faithless  main  ; 
Some  rougher  storms  in  princes’  courts  sustain. 
Some  swell  up  their  slight  sails  with  popular  fame, 
Charmed  with  the  foolish  whistlings  of  a name. 
Some  their  vain  wealth  to  earth  again  commit ; 
With  endless  cares  some  brooding  o’er  it  sit. 
Country  and  friends  are  by  some  wretches  sold. 

To  lie  on  Tyrian  beds  and  drink  in  gold ; 

No  price  too  high  for  profit  can  be  shown  ; 

Not  brother’s  blood,  nor  hazards  of  their  own. 


86 


COWLEY’S  ESSAYS. 


Around  the  world  in  search  of  it  they  roam  ; 

It  makes  e’en  their  Antipodes  their  home. 
Meanwhile,  the  prudent  husbandman  is  found 
In  mutual  duties  striving  with  his  ground ; 

And  half  the  year  he  care  of  that  does  take 
That  half  the  year  grateful  returns  does  make. 
Each  fertile  month  does  some  new  gifts  present, 
And  with  new  work  his  industry  content : 

This  the  young  lamb,  that  the  soft  fleece  doth  yield, 
This  loads  with  hay,  and  that  with  corn  the  field  : 
All  sorts  of  fruit  crown  the  rich  autumn’s  pride  : 
And  on  a swelling  hill’s  warm  stony  side, 

The  powerful  princely  purple  of  the  vine, 

Twice  dyed  with  the  redoubled  sun,  does  shine. 

In  th’  evening  to  a fair  ensuing  day, 

With  joy  he  sees  his  flocks  and  kids  to  play, 

And  loaded  kine  about  his  cottage  stand, 

Inviting  with  known  sound  the  milker’s  hand  ; 

And  when  from  wholesome  labour  he  doth  come, 
With  wishes  to  be  there,  and  wished  for  home, 

He  meets  at  door  the  softest  human  blisses, 

His  chaste  wife’s  welcome,  and  dear  children’s  kisses. 


OF  AGRICULTURE. 


87 


When  any  rural  holydays  invite 
His  genius  forth  to  innocent  delight, 

On  earth’s  fair  bed  beneath  some  sacred  shade, 
Amidst  his  equal  friends  carelessly  laid, 

He  sings  thee,  Bacchus,  patron  of  the  vine, 

The  beechen  bowl  foams  with  a flood  of  wine, 

Not  to  the  loss  of  reason  or  of  strength. 

To  active  games  and  manly  sport  at  length 
Their  mirth  ascends,  and  with  filled  veins  they 
see, 

Who  can  the  best  at  better  trials  be. 

Such  was  the  life  the  prudent  Sabine  chose, 

From  such  the  old  Etrurian  virtue  rose. 

Such,  Bemus  and  the  god  his  brother  led, 

From  such  firm  footing  Rome  grew  the  world’s 
head. 

Such  was  the  life  that  even  till  now  does  raise 
The  honour  of  poor  Saturn’s  golden  days  : 

Before  men  born  of  earth  and  buried  there, 

Let  in  the  sea  their  mortal  fate  to  share, 

Before  new  ways  of  perishing  were  sought, 

Before  unskilful  death  on  anvils  wrought. 


COWLEY’S  ESSAYS. 


Before  those  beasts  which  human  life  sustain, 
By  men,  unless  to  the  gods’  use,  were  slain. 


Horat.  Epodon. 

Beatus  ille  qui  procul,  etc. 

Happy  the  man  whom  bounteous  gods  allow 
With  his  own  hand  paternal  grounds  to  plough  l 
Like  the  first  golden  mortals,  happy  he, 

From  business  and  the  cares  of  money  free  ! 

No  human  storms  break  off  at  land  his  sleep, 

No  loud  alarms  of  nature  on  the  deep. 

From  all  the  cheats  of  law  he  lives  secure, 

Nor  does  th’  affronts  of  palaces  endure. 
Sometimes  the  beauteous  marriageable  vine 
He  to  the  lusty  bridegroom  elm  does  join  ; 
Sometimes  he  lops  the  barren  trees  around, 

And  grafts  new  life  into  the  fruitful  wound ; 
Sometimes  he  shears  his  flock,  and  sometimes  he 
Stores  up  the  golden  treasures  of  the  bee. 

He  sees  his  lowing  herds  walk  o’er  the  plain, 
Whilst  neighbouring  hills  low  back  to  them  again. 


OF  AGRICULTURE. 


89 


And  when  the  season,  rich  as  well  as  gay, 

All  her  autumnal  bounty  does  display, 

How  is  he  pleas’d  th’  increasing  use  to  see 
Of  his  well  trusted  labours  bend  the  tree ; 

Of  which  large  shares,  on  the  glad  sacred  days, 
He  gives  to  friends,  and  to  the  gods  repays. 
With  how  much  joy  does  he,  beneath  some  shade 
By  aged  trees,  reverend  embraces  made, 

His  careless  head  on  the  fresh  green  recline, 

His  head  uncharged  with  fear  or  with  design. 

By  him  a river  constantly  complains, 

The  birds  above  rejoice  with  various  strains, 

And  in  the  solemn  scene  their  orgies  keep 
Like  dreams  mixed  with  the  gravity  of  sleep, 
Sleep  which  does  always  there  for  entrance  wait, 
And  nought  within  against  it  shuts  the  gate. 

Nor  does  the  roughest  season  of  the  sky, 

Or  sullen  Jove,  all  sports  to  him  deny. 

He  runs  the  mazes  of  the  nimble  hare, 

His  well-mouthed  dogs’  glad  concert  rends  the  air, 
Or  with  game  bolder,  and  rewarded  more, 

Hfe  drives  into  a toil  the  foaming  boar  ; 


90 


cowley’s  essays. 


Here  flies  the  hawk  to  assault,  and  there  the  net 
To  intercept  the  travelling  fowl  is  set ; 

And  all  his  malice,  all  his  craft  is  shown 
In  innocent  wars,  on  beasts  and  birds  alone. 

This  is  the  life  from  all  misfortune  free, 

From  thee,  the  great  one,  tyrant  love,  from  thee ; 
And  if  a chaste  and  clean  though  homely  wife, 
Be  added  to  the  blessings  of  this  life, — 

Such  as  the  ancient  sun-burnt  Sabines  were, 
Such  as  Apulia,  frugal  still,  does  bear, — 

Who  makes  her  children  and  the  house  her  care. 
And  joyfully  the  work  of  life  does  share  ; 

Nor  thinks  herself  too  noble  or  too  fine 
To  pin  the  sheepfold  or  to  milk  the  kine ; 

Who  waits  at  door  against  her  husband  come 
From  rural  duties,  late,  and  wearied  home, 
Where  she  receives  him  with  a kind  embrace, 

A cheerful  fire,  and  a more  cheerful  face  : 

And  fills  the  bowl  up  to  her  homely  lord, 

And  with  domestic  plenty  loads  the  board. 

Not  all  the  lustful  shell-fish  of  the  sea, 

Dressed  by  the  wanton  hand  of  luxury,  * 


OF  AGRICULTURE. 


91 


Nor  ortolans  nor  god  wits  nor  the  rest 
Of  costly  names  that  glorify  a feast, 

Are  at  the  princely  tables  better  cheer 
Than  lamb  and  kid,  lettuce  and  olives,  here. 


THE  COUNTRY  MOUSE. 

A Paraphrase  upon  Horace , n Book , Satire  vi. 

At  the  large  foot  of  a fair  hollow  tree, 

Close  to  ploughed  ground,  seated  commodiously, 
His  ancient  and  hereditary  house, 

There  dwelt  a good  substantial  country  mouse  : 
Frugal,  and  grave,  and  careful  of  the  main, 

Yet  one  who  once  did  nobly  entertain 
A city  mouse,  well  coated,  sleek,  and  gay, 

A mouse  of  high  degree,  which  lost  his  way. 
Wantonly  walking  forth  to  take  the  air, 

And  arrived  early,  and  alighted  there, 

For  a day’s  lodging.  The  good  hearty  host 


COWLEY  S ESSAYS. 


m 

(The  ancient  plenty  of  his  hall  to  boast) 

Did  all  the  stores  produce  that  might  excite, 
With  various  tastes,  the  courtier’s  appetite. 
Fitches  and  beans,  peason,  and  oats,  and  wheat, 
And  a large  chestnut,  the  delicious  meat 
Which  Jove  himself,  were  he  a mouse,  would  eat. 
And  for  a haut  goust  there  was  mixed  with  those 
The  swerd  of  bacon,  and  the  coat  of  cheese, 

The  precious  relics,  which  at  harvest  he 
Had  gathered  from  the  reapers’  luxury. 
u Freely,”  said  he,  “ fall  on,  and  never  spare, 

The  bounteous  gods  will  for  to-morrow  care.” 
And  thus  at  ease  on  beds  of  straw  they  lay, 

And  to  their  genius  sacrificed  the  day. 

Yet  the  nice  guest’s  epicurean  mind 
(Though  breeding  made  him  civil  seem,  and  kind) 
Despised  this  country  feast,  and  still  his  thought 
Upon  the  cakes  and  pies  of  London  wrought. 
u Your  bounty  and  civility,”  said  he, 
u Which  I’m  surprised  in  these  rude  parts  to  see, 
Show  that  the  gods  have  given  you  a mind 
Too  noble  for  the  fate  which  here  you  find. 


OF  AGRICULTURE. 


93 


Why  should  a soul,  so  virtuous  and  so  groat, 
Lose  itself  thus  in  an  obscure  retreat  ? 

Let  savage  beasts  lodge  in  a country  den, 

You  should  see  towns,  and  manners  know,  and  men; 
And  taste  the  generous  luxury  of  the  court, 
Where  all  the  mice  of  quality  resort ; 

Where  thousand  beauteous  shes  about  you  move, 
And  by  high  fare  are  pliant  made  to  love. 

We  all  ere  long  must  render  up  our  breath, 

No  cave  or  hole  can  shelter  us  from  death. 

Since  life  is  so  uncertain  and  so  short, 

Let’s  spend  it  all  in  feasting  and  in  sport. 

Come,  worthy  sir,  come  with  me,  and  partake 
All  the  great  things  that  mortals  happy  make.” 

Alas,  what  virtue  hath  sufficient  arms 
To  oppose  bright  honour  and  soft  pleasure’s  charms? 
What  wisdom  can  their  magic  force  repel  ? 

It  draws  the  reverend  hermit  from  his  cell. 

It  was  the  time,  when  witty  poets  tell, 

That  Phoebus  into  Thetis’  bosom  fell : 

She  blushed  at  first,  and  then  put  out  the  light, 
And  drew  the  modest  curtains  of  the  night. 


94 


cowley’s  essays. 


Plainly  the  truth  to  tell,  the  sun  was  set, 

When  to  the  town  our  wearied  travellers  get. 

To  a lord’s  house,  as  lordly  as  can  be, 

Made  for  the  use  of  pride  and  luxury, 

They  come  ; the  gentle  courtier  at  the  door 
Stops,  and  will  hardly  enter  in  before ; — 

But  ’tis,  sir,  your  command,  and  being  so, 

I’m  sworn  t’  obedience — and  so  in  they  go. 
Behind  a hanging  in  a spacious  room 
(The  richest  work  of  Mortlake’s  noble  loom) 
They  wait  awhile  their  wearied  limbs  to  rest, 
Till  silence  should  invite  them  to  their  feast, 
About  the  hour  that  Cynthia’s  silver  light 
Had  touched  the  pale  meridies  of  the  night, 

At  last,  the  various  supper  being  done. 

It  happened  that  the  company  was  gone 
Into  a room  remote,  servants  and  all, 

To  please  their  noble  fancies  with  a ball. 

Our  host  leads  forth  his  stranger,  and  does  find 
All  fitted  to  the  bounties  of  his  mind. 

Still  on  the  table  half-filled  dishes  stood, 

And  with  delicious  bits  the  floor  was  strewed  : 


OF  AGRICULTURE. 


95 


The  courteous  mouse  presents  him  with  the  best, 
And  both  with  fat  varieties  are  blest. 

The  industrious  peasant  everywhere  does  range, 
And  thanks  the  gods  for  his  life’s  happy  change. 
Lo,  in  the  midst  of  a well-freighted  pie 
They  both  at  last  glutted  and  wanton  lie, 

When  see  the  sad  reverse  of  prosperous  fate, 
And  what  fierce  storms  on  mortal  glories  wait  ! 
With  hideous  noise,  down  the  rude  servants  come, 
Six  dogs  before  run  barking  into  th’  room  ; 

The  wretched  gluttons  fly  with  wild  affright,  * 
And  hate  the  fulness  which  retards  their  flight. 
Our  trembling  peasant  wishes  now  in  vain 
That  rocks  and  mountains  covered  him  again. 
Oh,  how  the  change  of  his  poor  life  he  cursed ! 

“ This,  of  all  lives,”  said  he,  “ is  sure  the  worst. 
Give  me  again,  ye  gods,  my  cave  and  wood  ; 

W ith  peace,  let  tares  and  acorns  be  my  food.” 


96 


COWLEY’fe  ESSAYS. 


A Paraphrase  upon  the  Eightieth  Epistle  of  the  First 
Book  of  Horace, 

HORACE  TO  FUSCUS  ARISTIUS. 


Health,  from  the  lover  of  the  country,  me, 
Health,  to  the  lover  of  the  city,  thee, 

A difference  in  our  souls,  this  only  proves, 

In  all  things  else,  we  agree  like  married  doves. 
But  the  warm  nest  and  crowded  dove  house  thou 
Dost  like  ; I loosely  fly  from  bough  to  bough, 
And  rivers  drink,  and  all  the  shining  day, 

Upon  fair  trees  or  mossy  rocks  I play ; 

In  fine,  I live  and  reign  when  I retire 
From  all  that  you  equal  with  heaven  admire. 
Like  one  at  last  from  the  priest’s  service  fled. 
Loathing  the  honied  cakes,  I long  for  bread. 
Would  I a house  for  happiness  erect, 

Nature  alone  should  be  the  architect. 

She’d  build  it  more  convenient  than  great, 

And  doubtless  in  the  country  choose  her  seat* 


OF  AGRICULTURE. 


97 


Is  there  a place  doth  better  helps  supply 
Against  the  wounds  of  winter’s  cruelty  ] 

Is  there  an  air  that  gentler  does  assuage 
The  mad  celestial  dog’s  or  lion’s  rage  ? 

Is  it  not  there  that  sleep  (and  only  there) 

Nor  noise  without,  nor  cares  within  does  fear  *1 
Does  art  through  pipes  a purer  water  bring 
Than  that  which  nature  strains  into  a spring1? 

Can  all  your  tapestries,  or  your  pictures,  show 
More  beauties  than  in  herbs  and  flowers  do  grow  ) 
Fountains  and  trees  our  wearied  pride  do  please, 
Even  in  the  midst  of  gilded  palaces. 

And  in  your  towns  that  prospect  gives  delight 
Which  opens  round  the  country  to  our  sight. 

Men  to  the  good,  from  which  they  rashly  fly, 
Return  at  last,  and  their  wild  luxury 
Does  but  in  vain  with  those  true  joys  contend 
Which  nature  did  to  mankind  recommend. 

The  man  who  changes  gold  for  burnished  brass, 

Or  small  right  gems  for  larger  ones  of  glass, 

Is  not,  at  length,  more  certain  to  be  made 
Ridiculous  and  wretched  by  the  trade, 
d— 28 


98 


cowley’s  essays. 


Than  he  who  sells  a solid  good  to  buy 
The  painted  goods  of  pride  and  vanity. 

If  thou  be  wise,  no  glorious  fortune  choose, 
Which ’t  is  but  pain  to  keep,  yet  grief  to  lose. 
For  when  we  place  even  trifles  in  the  heart, 
With  trifles  too  unwillingly  we  part. 

An  humble  roof,  plain  bed,  and  homely  board, 
More  clear,  untainted  pleasures  do  afford 
Than  all  the  tumult  of  vain  greatness  brings 
To  kings,  or  to  the  favourites  of  kings. 

The  horned  deer,  by  nature  armed  so  well, 

Did  with  the  horse  in  common  pasture  dwell ; 
And  when  they  fought,  the  field  it  always  won, 
Till  the  ambitious  horse  begged  help  of  man, 
And  took  the  bridle,  and  thenceforth  did  reign 
Bravely  alone,  as  lord  of  all  the  plain  : 

But  never  after  could  the  rider  get 

From  off  his  back,  or  from  his  mouth  the  bit. 

So  they,  who  poverty  too  much  do  fear, 

To  avoid  that  weight,  a greater  burden  bear ; 
That  they  might  power  above  their  equals  have, 
To  cruel  masters  they  themselves  enslave. 


OF  AGRICULTURE. 


99 


For  gold,  their  liberty  exchanged  we  see, 

That  fairest  flower  which  crowns  humanity. 
And  all  this  mischief  does  upon  them  light, 
Only  because  they  know  not  how  aright 
That  great,  but  secret,  happiness  to  prize, 
That’s  laid  up  in  a little,  for  the  wise  : 

That  is  the  best  and  easiest  estate 

Which  to  a man  sits  close,  but  not  too  strait. 

’Tis  like  a shoe  : it  pinches,  and  it  burns, 

Too  narrow;  and  too  large  it  overturns. 

My  dearest  friend,  stop  thy  desires  at  last, 
And  cheerfully  enjoy  the  wealth  thou  hast. 
And,  if  me  still  seeking  for  more  you  see, 
Ohide  and  reproach,  despise  and  laugh  at  me. 
Money  was  made,  not  to  command  our  will, 
But  all  our  lawful  pleasures  to  fulfil. 

Shame  and  woe  to  us,  if  we  our  wealth  obey ; 
The  horse  doth  with  the  horseman  run  away. 


100 


cowley’s  essays. 


THE  COUNTRY  LIFE. 

Libr.  4,  Plantarum. 


Blest  be  the  man  (and  blest  he  is)  whom  e’< 
(Placed  far  out  of  the  roads  of  hope  or  fear) 

A little  field  and  little  garden  feeds  ; 

The  field  gives  all  that  frugal  nature  needs, 

The  wealthy  garden  liberally  bestows 
All  she  can  ask,  when  she  luxurious  grows. 

The  specious  inconveniences,  that  wait 
Upon  a life  of  business  and  of  state, 

He  sees  (nor  does  the  sight  disturb  his  rest) 

By  fools  desired,  by  wicked  men  possessed. 

Thus,  thus  (and  this  deserved  great  Virgil’s  praise)* 
The  old  Corycian  yeoman  passed  his  days, 

Thus  his  wise  life  A bdolonymus  spent : 

The  ambassadors  which  the  great  emperor  sent 
To  offer  him  a crown,  with  wonder  found 
The  reverend  gardener  hoeing  of  his  ground ; 
Unwillingly  and  slow,  and  discontent, 


OF  AGRICULTURE. 


101 


From  his  loved  cottage  to  a throne  he  went. 

And  oft  he  stopped  in  his  triumphant  way, 

And  oft  looked  back,  and  oft  was  heard  to  say, 
Not  without  sighs,  “ Alas  ! I there  forsake 
A happier  kingdom  than  I go  to  take.” 

Thus  Aglaiis  (a  man  unknown  to  men, 

But  the  gods  knew,  and  therefore  loved  him  then) 
Thus  lived  obscurely  then  without  a name, 

Aglaiis,  now  consigned  to  eternal  fame. 

For  Gyges,  the  rich  king,  wicked  and  great, 
Presumed  at  wise  Apollo’s  Delphic  seat, 

Presumed  to  ask,  “ O thou,  the  whole  world’s  eye, 
Seest  thou  a man  that  happier  is  than  II” 

The  god,  who  scorned  to  flatter  man,  replied, 

“ Aglaiis  happier  is.”  But  Gyges  cried, 

In  a proud  rage,  u Who  can  that  Aglaiis  be  ? 

We  have  heard  as  yet  of  no  such  king  as  he.” 

And  true  it  was,  through  the  whole  earth  around 
No  king  of  such  a name  was  to  be  found. 
u Is  some  old  hero  of  that  name  alive, 

Who  his  high  race  does  from  the  gods  derive 
Is  it  some  mighty  general  that  has  done 


102 


COWLEY  S ESSAYS. 


Wonders  in  fight,  and  god-like  honours  won? 

Is  it  some  man  of  endless  wealth  ? ” said  he  ; 

“ None,  none  of  these  : who  can  this  Aglaiis  be  ?* 
After  long  search,  and  vain  inquiries  passed, 

In  an  obscure  Arcadian  vale  at  last 
(The  Arcadian  life  has  always  shady  been) 

Near  Sopho’s  town  (which  he  but  once  had  seen) 
This  Aglaiis,  who  monarchs’  envy  drew, 

Whose  happiness  the  gods  stood  witness  to, 

This  mighty  Aglaiis  was  labouring  found, 

With  his  own  hands,  in  his  own  little  ground. 

So,  gracious  God  (if  it  may  lawful  be, 

Among  those  foolish  gods  to  mention  Thee), 

So  let  me  act,  on  such  a private  stage, 

The  last  dull  scenes  of  my  declining  age ; 

After  long  toils  and  voyages  in  vain, 

This  quiet  port  let  my  tossed  vessel  gain; 

Of  heavenly  rest  this  earnest  to  me  lend, 

Let  my  life  sleep,  and  learn  to  love  her  end. 


103 


THE  GARDEN. 

To  J.  Evelyn , Esquire. 

I never  had  any  other  desire  so  strong,  and  so  like 
to  covetousness,  as  that  one  which  I have  had 
always,  that  I might  be  master  at  last  of  a small 
house  and  large  garden,  with  very  moderate  con- 
veniences joined  to  them,  and  there  dedicate  the 
remainder  of  my  life  only  to  the  culture  of  them 
and  the  study  of  nature. 

And  there  (with,  no  design  beyond  my  wall)  whole 
and  entire  to  lie, 

In  no  unactive  ease,  and  no  unglorious  poverty. 

Or,  as  Yirgil  has  said,  shorter  and  better  for 
me,  that  I might  there  studiis  Jlorere  ignobilis 
otii,  though  I could  wish  that  he  had  rather  said 
Nobilis  otii  when  he  spoke  of  his  own.  But 
several  accidents  of  my  ill  fortune  have  disappointed 


104 


COWLEY  S ESSAYS. 


me  hitherto,  and  do  still,  of  that  felicity;  for 
though  I have  made  the  first  and  hardest  step 
to  it,  by  abandoning  all  ambitions  and  hopes  in 
this  world,  and  by  retiring  from  the  noise  of  all 
business  and  almost  company,  yet  I stick  still  in 
the  inn  of  a hired  house  and  garden,  among  weeds 
and  rubbish,  and  without  that  pleasantest  work  of 
human  industry — the  improvement  of  something 
which  we  call  (not  very  properly,  but  yet  we  call) 
our  own.  I am  gone  out  from  Sodom,  but  I am 
not  arrived  at  my  little  Zoar.  “ Oh,  let  me  escape 
thither  (is  it  not  a little  one?),  and  my  soul 
shall  live.”  I do  not  look  back  yet ; but  I have 
been  forced  to  stop  and  make  too  many  halts. 
You  may  wonder,  sir  (for  this  seems  a little  too 
extravagant  and  Pindarical  for  prose)  what  I mean 
by  all  this  preface.  It  is  to  let  you  know,  that 
though  I have  missed,  like  a chemist,  my  great 
end,  yet  I account  my  affections  and  endeavours 
well  rewarded  by  something  that  I have  met  with 
by-the-by,  which  is.  ihat  they  have  produced  to  me 
some  part  in  ycur  kindness  and  esteem;  and 


THE  GARDEN. 


105 

thereby  the  honour  of  having  my  name  so 
advantageously  recommenied  to  posterity  by  the 
epistle  you  are  pleased  to  prefix  to  the  most  useful 
book  that  has  been  written  in  that  kind,  and 
which  is  to  last  as  long  as  months  and  years. 

Among  many  other  arts  and  excellencies  which 
you  enjoy,  I am  glad  to  find  this  favourite  of  mine 
the  most  predominant,  that  you  choose  this  for 
your  wife,  though  you  have  hundreds  of  other  arts 
for  your  concubines  ; though  you  know  them,  and 
beget  sons  upon  them  all  (to  which  you  are  rich 
enough  to  allow  great  legacies),  yet  the  issue  of 
this  seems  to  be  designed  by  you  to  the  main  of 
the  estate ; you  have  taken  most  pleasure  in  it, 
and  bestowed  most  charges  upon  its  education,  and 
I doubt  not  to  see  that  book  which  you  are 
pleased  to  promise  to  the  world,  and  of  which  you 
have  given  us  a large  earnest  in  your  calendar,  as 
accomplished  as  anything  can  be  expected  from  an 
extraordinary  wit  and  no  ordinary  expenses  and 
a long  experience.  I knowT  nobody  that  possesses 
more  private  happiness  than  you  do  in  your 


106 


COWLEY’S  ESSAYS. 


garden,  and  yet  no  man  who  makes  his  happiness 
more  public  by  a free  communication  of  the  art 
and  knowledge  of  it  to  others.  All  that  I myself 
am  able  yet  to  do  is  only  to  recommend  to  mankind 
the  search  of  that  felicity  which  you  instruct  them 
how  to  find  and  to  enjoy. 

I. 

Happy  art  thou  whom  God  does  bless 
With  the  full  choice  of  thine  own  happiness ; 

And  happier  yet,  because  thou’rt  blessed 
With  prudence  how  to  choose  the  best. 

In  books  and  gardens  thou  hast  placed  aright, — 
Things  which  thou  well  dost  understand, 

And  both  dost  make  with  thy  laborious  hand — 
Thy  noble,  innocent  delight, 

And  in  thy  virtuous  wife,  where  thou  again  dost 
meet 

Both  pleasures  more  refined  and  sweet : 

The  fairest  garden  in  her  looks, 

And  in  her  mind  the  wisest  books. 

Oh  ! who  would  change  these  soft,  yet  solid  joys, 


THE  GARDEN. 


107 


For  empty  shows  and  senseless  noise, 

And  all  which  rank  ambition  breeds, 

Which  seem  such  beauteous  flowers,  and  are  such 
poisonous  weeds ! 


ii. 

When  God  did  man  to  his  own  likeness  make, 

As  much  as  clay,  though  of  the  purest  kind 
By  the  Great  Potter’s  art  refined, 

Could  the  Divine  impression  take, 

He  thought  it  tit  to  place  him  where 
A kind  of  heaven,  too,  did  appear, 

As  far  as  earth  could  such  a likeness  bear. 

That  Man  no  happiness  might  want, 

Which  earth  to  her  first  master  could  afford, 

He  did  a garden  for  him  plant 
By  the  quick  hand  of  his  omnipotent  word, 

As  the  chief  help  and  joy  of  human  life, 

He  gave  him  the  first  gift;  first,  even,  before  a 
wife. 


108 


cowley’s  essays. 


hi. 

For  God,  the  universal  architect, 

’T  had  been  as  easy  to  erect 
A Louvre,  or  Escurial,  or  a tower 
That  might  with  heaven  communication  hold. 

As  Babel  vainly  thought  to  do  of  old. 

He  wanted  not  the  skill  or  power, 

In  the  world’s  fabric  those  were  shown. 
And  the  materials  were  all  his  own. 

But  well  he  knew  what  place  would  best  agreo 

With  innocence  and  with  felicity 

And  we  elsewhere  still  seek  for  them  in  vain. 

If  any  part  of  either  yet  remain, 

If  any  part  of  either  we  expect, 

This  may  our  judgment  in  the  search  direct; 

God  the  first  garden  made,  and  the  first  city,  Cain. 

IV. 

Oh,  blessM  shades  ! Oh,  gentle,  cool  retreat 
From  all  the  immoderate  heat, 

In  which  the  frantic  world  does  burn  and  sweat  l 
This  does  the  lion-star,  Ambition’s  rage ; 


THE  GARDEN. 


109 


This  Avarice,  the  dog-star’s  thirst  assuage ; 
Everywhere  else  their  fatal  power  we  see, 

They  make  and  rule  man’s  wretched  destiny  ; 

They  neither  set  nor  disappear, 

But  tyrannise  o’er  all  the  year ; 

Whilst  we  ne’er  feel  their  flame  or  influence  here. 
The  birds  that  dance  from  bough  to  bough, 

And  sirig  above  in  every  tree, 

Are  not  from  fears  and  cares  more  free, 

Than  we  who  lie,  or  sit,  or  walk  bejow, 

And  should  by  right  be  singers  too. 

What  prince’s  choir  of  music  can  excel 
That  which  within  this  shade  does  dwell, 

To  which  we  nothing  pay  or  give — 

They,  like  all  other  poets,  live 
Without  reward  or  thanks  for  their  obliging  pains. 

’Tis  well  if  they  become  not  prey. 

The  whistling  winds  add  their  less  artful  strains, 
And  a grave  base  the  murmuring  fountains  play. 
Nature  does  all  this  harmony  bestow; 

But  to  our  plants,  art’s  music  too, 

The  pipe,  theorbo,  and  guitar  we  owe ; 


110 


COWLEY’S  ESSAYS. 


The  lute  itself,  which  once  was  green  and  mute,, 
When  Orpheus  struck  the  inspired  lute, 

The  trees  danced  round,  and  understood 
By  sympathy  the  voice  of  wood. 

y. 

These  are  the  spells  that  to  kind  sleep  invite, 

And  nothing  does  within  resistance  make ; 

Which  yet  we  moderately  take ; 

Who  would  not  choose  to  be  awake, 

While  he’s  encompassed  round  with  such  delight ; 
To  the  ear,  the  nose,  the  touch,  the  taste  and  sight  ? 
When  Venus  would  her  dear  Ascanius  keep 
A prisoner  in  the  downy  bands  of  sleep, 

She  odorous  herbs  and  flowers  beneath  him  spread. 
As  the  most  soft  and  sweetest  bed ; 

Not  her  own  lap  would  more  have  charmed  his 
head. 

Who  that  has  reason  and  his  smell 
Would  not  among  roses  and  jasmine  dwell, 

Bather  than  all  his  spirits  choke, 

With  exhalations  of  dirt  and  smoke, 


THE  GARDEN. 


Ill 


And  all  the  uncleanness  which  does  drown 
In  pestilential  clouds  a populous  town  ? 

The  earth  itself  breathes  better  perfumes  here, 
Than  all  the  female  men  or  women  there, 

Not  without  cause,  about  them  bear. 


VI. 

When  Epicurus  to  the  world  had  taught 
That  pleasure  was  the  chiefest  good, 

(And  was  perhaps  i’  th’  right,  if  rightly  understood) 
His  life  he  to  his  doctrine  brought, 

And  in  a garden’s  shade  that  sovereign  pleasure 
sought. 

Whoever  a true  epicure  would  be, 

May  there  find  cheap  and  virtuous  luxury. 

Vitellius  his  table,  which  did  hold 
As  many  creatures  as  the  Ark  of  old, 

That  fiscal  table,  to  which  every  day 
All  countries  did  a constant  tribute  pay, 

Could  nothing  more  delicious  afford 
Than  Nature’s  liberality, 

Helped  with  a little  art  and  industry, 


112 


cowley’s  essays. 


Allows  the  meanest  gardener’s  board. 

The  wanton  taste  no  fish  or  fowl  can  choose 
For  which  the  grape  or  melon  she  would  lose, 
Though  all  the  inhabitants  of  sea  and  air 
Be  listed  in  the  glutton’s  bill  of  fare ; 

Yet  still  the  fruits  of  earth  we  see 
Placed  the  third  storey  high  in  all  her  luxury. 

VII. 

But  with  no  sense  the  garden  does  comply, 
None  courts  or  flatters,  as  it  does  the  eye  ; 
When  the  great  Hebrew  king  did  almost  strain 
The  wondrous  treasures  of  his  wealth  and  brain 
His  royal  southern  guest  to  entertain, 

Though  she  on  silver  floors  did  tread, 

With  bright  Assyrian  carpets  on  them  spread 
To  hide  the  metal’s  poverty ; 

Though  she  looked  up  to  roofs  of  gold, 

And  nought  around  her  could  behold 
But  silk  and  rich  embroidery, 

And  Babylonian  tapestry, 

And  wealthy  Hiram’s  princely  dye : 


THE  GARDEN. 


113 


Though  Ophir’s  starry  stones  met  everywhere  her 
eye; 

Though  she  herself  and  her  gay  host  were,  dressed 
With  all  the  shining  glories  of  the  East ; 

When  lavish  art  her  costly  w^ork  had  done ; 

The  honour  and  the  prize  of  bravery 
Was  by  the  Garden  from  the  Palace  won  ; 

And  every  rose  and  lily  there  did  stand 
Better  attired  by  Nature’s  hand  : 

The  case  thus  judged  against  the  king  we  see, 

By  one  that  would  not  be  so  rich,  though  wiser  far 
than  he. 


VIII. 

Nor  does  this  happy  place  only  dispense 
Such  various  pleasures  to  the  sense : 

Here  health  itself  does  live, 

That  salt  of  life,  which  does  to  all  a relish  give, 

Its  standing  pleasure,  and  intrinsic  wealth, 

The  body’s  virtue,  and  the  soul’s  good  fortune, 
health. 

The  tree  of  life,  when  it  in  Eden  stood, 


114 


cowley’s  essays. 


Did  its  immortal  head  to  heaven  rear ; 

It  lasted  a tall  cedar  till  the  flood ; 

Now  a small  thorny  shrub  it  does  appear  ; 

Nor  will  it  thrive  too  everywhere  : 

It  always  here  is  freshest  seen, 

Tis  only  here  an  evergreen. 

If  through  the  strong  and  beauteous  fence 
Of  temperance  and  innocence, 

And  wholesome  labours  and  a quiet  mind, 

Any  diseases  passage  find, 

They  must  not  think  here  to  assail 
A land  unarmed,  or  without  a guard  ; 

They  must  fight  for  it,  and  dispute  it  hard, 

Before  they  can  prevail. 

Scarce  any  plant  is  growing  here 
Which  against  death  some  weapon  does  not 
bear, 

Let  cities  boast  that  they  provide 
For  life  the  ornaments  of  pride  ; 

But  ’tis  the  country  and  the  field 
That  furnish  it  with  staff  and  shield. 


THE  GARDEN. 


115 


l 


IX. 

Where  does  the  wisdom  and  the  power  divine 
In  a more  bright  and  sweet  reflection  shine  ? 
Where  do  we  finer  strokes  and  colours  see 
Of  the  Creator’s  real  poetry, 

Than  when  we  with  attention  look 
Upon  the  third  day’s  volume  of  the  book? 

If  we  could  open  and  intend  our  eye, 

We  all  like  Moses  should  espy 
Even  in  a bush  the  radiant  Deity. 

But  we  despise  these  his  inferior  ways 
Though  no  less  full  of  miracle  and  praise  ; 

Upon  the  flowers  of  heaven  we  gaze, 

The  stars  of  earth  no  wonder  in  us  raise, 
Though  these  perhaps  do  more  than  they 
The  life  of  mankind  sway. 

Although  no  part  of  mighty  Nature  be 
More  stored  with  beauty,  power,  and  mystery. 
Yet  to  encourage  human  industry, 

God  has  so  ordered  that  no  other  part 
Such  space  and  such  dominion  leaves  for  art. 


116 


cowley’s  essays. 


x. 

We  nowhere  art  do  so  triumphant  see, 

As  when  it  grafts  or  buds  the  tree ; 

In  other  things  we  count  it  to  excel, 

If  it  a docile  scholar  can  appear 
To  Nature,  and  but  imitate  her  well : 

It  over-rules,  and  is  her  master  here. 

It  imitates  her  Maker’s  power  divine, 

And -changes  her  sometimes,  and  sometimes  does 
refine  : 

It  does,  like  grace,  the  fallen  tree  restore 
To  its  blest  state  of  Paradise  before  : 

Who  would  not  joy  to  see  his  conquering  hand 
O’er  all  the  vegetable  world  command, 

And  the  wild  giants  of  the  wood  receive 
What  laws  he’s  pleased  to  give  h 
He  bids  the  ill-natured  crab  produce 
The  gentler  apple’s  winy  juice, 

The  golden  fruit  that  worthy  is, 

Of  Galatea’s  purple  kiss  ; 

He  does  the  savage  hawthorn  teach 


THE  GARDEN. 


117 


To  bear  the  medlar  and  the  pear ; 

He  bids  the  rustic  plum  to  rear 
A noble  trunk,  and  be  a peach. 

Even  Daphne’s  coyness  he  does  mock, 

And  weds  the  cherry  to  her  stock, 

Though  she  refused  Apollo’s  suit, 

Even  she,  that  chaste  and  virgin  tree, 

Now  wonders  at  herself  to  see 
That  she’s  a mother  made,  and  blushes  in  her  fruit* 


XI. 

Methinks  I see  great  Diocletian  walk 
In  the  Salonian  garden’s  noble  shade, 

Which  by  his  own  imperial  hands  was  made : 

I see  him  smile,  methinks,  as  he  does  talk 
With  the  ambassadors,  who  come  in  vain, 

To  entice  him  to  a throne  again. 

“If  I,  my  friends,”  said  he,  “ should  to  you 
show 

All  the  delights  which  in  these  gardens  grow ; 

’Tis  likelier  much  that  you  should  with  me  stay. 
Than  ’tis  that  you  should  carry  me  away ; 


118 


cowley’s  essays. 


And  trust  me  not,  my  friends,  if  every  day 
I walk  not  here  with  more  delight, 

Than  ever,  after  the  most  happy  fight, 

In  triumph  to  the  Capitol  I rode, 

To  thank  the  gods,  and  to  be  thought  myself  almost 


119 


OF  GE^ATNESS. 

Since  we  cannot  attain  to  greatness,  says  the  Sieur 
de  Montaigne,  let  us  have  our  revenge  by  railing  at 
it ; this  he  spoke  but  in  jest.  I believe  he  desired 
it  no  more  than  I do,  and  had  less  reason,  for  he 
enjoyed  so  plentiful  and  honourable  a fortune  in  a 
most  excellent  country,  as  allowed  him  all  the  real 
conveniences  of  it,  separated  and  purged  from  the 
incommodities.  If  I were  but  in  his  condition,  I 
should  think  it  hard  measure,  without  being  con- 
vinced of  any  crime,  to  be  sequestered  from  it  and 
made  one  of  the  principal  officers  of  state.  But 
the  reader  may  think  that  what  I now  say  is  of 
small  authority,  because  I never  was,  nor  ever 
shall  be,  put  to  the  trial ; I can  therefore  only 
make  my  protestation. 

If  ever  I more  riches  did  desire 

Than  cleanliness  and  quiet  do  require ; 


120 


cowley’s  essays. 


If  e’er  ambition  did  my  fancy  cheat, 

With  any  wish  so  mean  as  to  be  great, 

Continue,  Heaven,  still  from  me  to  remove 
The  humble  blessings  of  that  life  I love. 

I know  very  many  men  will  despise,  and  some 
pity  me,  for  this  humour,  as  a poor-spirited  fellow ; 
but  I am  content,  and,  like  Horace,  thank  "God  for 
being  so.  Dii  bene  fecerunt  inopis  me , quodque 
pusilli  finxerunt  animi.  I confess  I love  littleness 
almost  in  all  things.  A little  convenient  estate,  a 
little  cheerful  house,  a little  company,  and  a very 
little  feast ; and  if  I were  ever  to  fall  in  love  again 
(which  is  a great  passion,  and  therefore  I hope  I 
have  done  with  it)  it  would  be,  I think,  with 
prettiness  rather  than  with  majestical  beauty.  I 
would  neither  wish  that  my  mistress,  nor  my  for- 
tune, should  be  a bona  roba,  nor,  as  Homer  used  to 
describe  his  beauties,  like  a daughter  of  great 
Jupiter,  for  the  stateliness  and  largeness  of  her 
person,  but,  as  Lucretius  says,  “ Parvula , pumilio , 
Xapi'rccu  /ula,  tota  merum  sal.” 

Where  there  is  one  man  of  this,  I believe  there 


OF  GREATNESS. 


121 


are  a thousand  of  Senecio's  mind,  whose  ridiculous 
affectation  of  grandeur  Seneca  the  elder  describes 
to  this  effect.  Senecio  was  a man  of  a turbid  and. 
confused  wit,  who  could  not  endure  to  speak  any 
but  mighty  words  and  sentences,  till  this  humour 
grew  at  last  into  so  notorious  a habit,  or  rather 
disease,  as  became  the  sport  of  the  whole  town  : 
he  would  have  no  servants  but  huge  massy  fellows, 
no  plate  or  household  stuff  but  thrice  as  big  as  the 
fashion ; you  may  believe  nie,  for  I speak  it  with- 
out raillery,  his  extravagancy  came  at  last  into  such 
a madness  that  he  would  not  put  on  a pair  of 
shoes  each  of  which  was  not  big  enough  for  both 
his  feet;  he  would  eat  nothing  but  what  was 
great,  nor  touch  any  fruit  but  horse-plums  and 
pound-pears.  He  kept  a concubine  that  was  a very 
giantess,  and  made  her  walk,  too,  always  in 
chiopins,  till  at  last  he  got  the  surname  of  Senecio 
Grandio,  which,  Messala  said,  was  not  his  cog- 
nomen, but  his  cognomentum.  When  he  declaimed 
for  the  three  hundred  Lacedaemonians,  who  also 
opposed  Xerxes’  army  of  above  three  hundred 


122 


cowley’s  essays. 


thousand,  he  stretched  out  his  arms  and  stood  on 
tiptoes,  that  he  might  appear  the  taller,  and  cried 
out  in  a very  loud  voice,  “ I rejoice,  I rejoice  ! ’, 
We  wondered,  I remember,  what  new  great  fortune 
had  befallen  his  eminence.  “ Xerxes,”  says  he, 
“ is  all  mine  own.  He  who  took  away  the  sight  of 
the  sea  with  the  canvas  veils  of  so  many  ships.  . 
and  then  he  goes  on  so,  as  I know  not  what  to 
make  of  the  rest,  whether  it  be  the  fault  of  the 
edition,  or  the  orator’s  own  burly  way  of  nonsense. 

This  is  the  character  that  Seneca  gives  of  this 
hyperbolical  fop,  whom  we  stand  amazed  at,  and 
yet  there  are  very  few  men  who  are  not,  in  some 
things,  and  to  some  degree,  grandios.  Is  anything 
more  common  than  to  see  our  ladies  of  quality 
wear  such  high  shoes  as  they  cannot  walk  in  with- 
out one  to  lead  them  ? and  a gown  as  long  again 
as  their  body,  so  that  they  cannot  stir  to  the  next 
room  without  a page  or  two  to  hold  it  up  ? I may 
safely  say  that  all  the  ostentation  of  our  grandees  is 
just  like  a train,  of  no  use  in  the  world,  but, 
horribly  cumbersome  and  incommodious.  What  is 


OF  GREATNESS. 


123 


all  this  but  spice  of  grandio  ? How  tedious  would 
this  be  if  we  were  always  bound  to  it?  I do- 
believe  there  is  no  king  who  would  not  rather  be 
deposed  than  endure  every  day  of  his  reign  all 
the  ceremonies  of  his  coronation.  The  mightiest 
princes  are  glad  to  fly  often  from  these  majestic 
pleasures  (which  is,  methinks,  no  small  disparage- 
ment to  them),  as  it  were  for  refuge,  to  the  most 
contemptible  divertisements  and  meanest  recrea- 
tions of  the  vulgar,  nay,  even  of  children.  One  of 
the  most  powerful  and  fortunate  princes  of  the 
world  of  late,  could  find  out  no  delight  so  satis- 
factory as  the  keeping  of  little  singing  birds,  and 
hearing  of  them  and  whistling  to  them.  What  did 
the  emperors  of  the  whole  world  ? If  ever  any 
men  had  the  free  and  full  enjoyment  of  all  human 
greatness  (nay,  that  would  not  suffice,  for  they 
would  be  gods  too)  they  certainly  possessed  it ; and 
yet  one  of  them,  who  styled  himself  “Lord  and 
God  of  the  Earth,”  could  not  tell  how  to  pass  his 
whole  day  pleasantly,  without  spending  constant 
two  or  three  hours  in  catching  of  flies,  and  killing 


124 


cowley’s  essays. 


them  with  a bodkin,  as  if  his  godship  had  been 
Beelzebub.  One  of  his  predecessors,  Nero  (who 
never  put  any  bounds,  nor  met  with  any  stop  to 
his  appetite),  could  divert  himself  with  no  pastime 
more  agreeable  than  to  run  about  the  streets  all 
night  in  a disguise,  and  abuse  the  women  and 
affront  the  men  whom  he  met,  and  sometimes  to 
beat  them,  and  sometimes  to  be  beaten  by 
them.  This  was  one  of  his  imperial  nocturnal 
pleasures ; his  chief  est  in  the  day  was  to 
sing  and  play  upon  a fiddle,  in  the  habit  of  a 
minstrel,  upon  the  public  stage ; he  was  prouder  of 
the  garlands  that  were  given  to  his  divine  voice 
(as  they  called  it  then)  in  those  kind  of  prizes, 
than  all  his  forefathers  were  of  their  triumphs 
over  nations.  He  did  not  at  his  death  complain 
that  so  mighty  an  emperor,  and  the  last  of  all  the 
Caesarian  race  of  deities,  should  be  brought  to  so 
shameful  and  miserable  an  end,  but  only  cried  out, 
u Alas  ! what  pity  it  is  that  so  excellent  a musician 
should  perish  in  this  manner ! ” His  uncle 
Claudius  spent  half  his  time  at  playing  at  dice; 


OF  GREATNESS. 


125 


that  was  the  main  fruit  of  his  sovereignty.  I omit 
the  madnesses  of  Caligula’s  delights,  and  the  exe- 
crable sordidness  of  those  of  Tiberius.  Would  one 
think  that  Augustus  himself,  the  highest  and  most 
fortunate  of  mankind,  a person  endowed  too  with 
many  excellent  parts  of  nature,  should  be  so  hard 
put  to  it  sometimes  for  want  of  recreations,  as  to 
be  found  playing  at  nuts  and  bounding-stones  with 
little  Syrian  and  Moorish  boys,  whose  company  he 
took  delight  in,  for  their  prating  and  their  wanton- 
ness ? 

Was  it  for  this,  that  Home’s  best  blood  he  spilt, 

With  so  much  falsehood,  so  much  guilt  ? 

Was  it  for  this  that  his  ambition  strove 
To  equal  Caesar  first,  and  after  Jove? 

Greatness  is  barren  sure  of  solid  joys  ; 

Her  merchandise,  I fear,  is  all  in  toys  ; 

She  could  not  else  sure  so  uncivil  be, 

To  treat  his  universal  majesty, 

His  new  created  Deity, 

With  nuts  and  bounding-stones  and  boys. 

But  we  must  excuse  her  for  this  meagre  enter- 
tainment ; she  has  not  really  wherewithal  to  make 
such  feasts  as  we  imagine;  her  guests  must  be 


126 


cowley’s  essays. 


contented  sometimes  with  but  slender  cates,  and  with 
the  same  cold  meats  served  over  and  over  again, 
even  till  they  become  nauseous.  When  you  have 
pared  away  all  the  vanity,  what  solid  and  natural 
contentment  does  there  remain  which  may  not  be 
had  with  five  hundred  pounds  a year  ? not  so  many 
servants  or  horses,  but  a few  good  ones,  which  will 
do  all  the  business  as  well ; not  so  many  choice 
dishes  at  every  meal,  but  at  several  meals  all  of 
them,  which  makes  them  both  the  more  healthy 
and  the  more  pleasant ; not  so  rich  garments  nor 
so  frequent  changes,  but  as  warm  and  as  comely, 
and  so  frequent  change,  too,  as  is  every  jot  as  good 
for  the  master,  though  not  for  the  tailor  or  valet- 
de-chambre;  not  such  a stately  palace,  nor  gilt 
rooms,  nor  the  costlier  sorts  of  tapestry,  but  a con- 
venient brick  house,  with  decent  wainscot  and 
pretty  forest-work  hangings.  Lastly  (for  I omit 
all  other  particulars,  and  will  end  with  that  which 
I love  most  in  both  conditions),  not  whole  woods 
cut  in  walks,  nor  vast  parks,  nor  fountain  or  cas- 
cade gardens,  but  herb  and  flower  and  fruit 


OF  GREATNESS. 


127 


gardens,  which  are  more  useful,  and  the  water 
every  whit  as  clear  and  wholesome  as  if  it  darted 
from  the  breasts  of  a marble  nymph  or  the  urn  of 
a river-god.  If  for  all  this  you  like  better  the 
substance  of  that  former  estate  of  life,  do  but  con- 
sider the  inseparable  accidents  of  both  : servitude, 
disquiet,  danger,  and  most  commonly  guilt,  in- 
herent in  the  one ; in  the  other,  liberty,  tranquillity, 
security,  and  innocence  : and  when  you  have 
thought  upon  this,  you  will  confess  that  to  be  a 
truth  which  appeared  to  you  before  but  a ridicu- 
lous paradox,  that  a low  fortune  is  better  guarded 
and  attended  than  a high  one.  If,  indeed,  we 
look  only  upon  the  flourishing  head  of  the  tree,  it 
appears  a most  beautiful  object. 

Sed  quantum  vertice  ad  auras 

JEtherias,  tantum  radice  ad  Tartara  tendit. 

As  far  up  towards  heaven  the  branches  grow, 

So  far  the  root  sinks  down  to  hell  below. 

Another  horrible  disgrace  to  greatness  is,  that  it 
is  for  the  most  part  in  pitiful  want  and  distress. 


128 


cowley’s  essays. 


What  a wonderful  thing  is  this,  unless  it  degenerate 
into  avarice,  and  so  cease  to  be  greatness.  It  falls- 
perpetually  into  such  necessities  as  drive  it  into  all 
the  meanest  and  most  sordid  ways  of  borrowing, 
cozenage,  and  robbery,  Mancipiis  locopules , eget 
aris  Cappadocum  Rex . This  is  the  case  of  almost 
all  great  men,  as  well  as  of  the  poor  King  of 
Cappadocia.  They  abound  with  slaves,  but  are 
indigent  of  money.  The  ancient  Roman  emperors, 
who  had  the  riches  of  the  whole  world  for  their 
revenue,  had  wherewithal  to  live,  one  would  have 
thought,  pretty  well  at  ease,  and  to  have  been 
exempt  from  the  pressures  of  extreme  poverty. 
But  yet  with  most  of  them  it  was  much  other- 
wise, and  they  fell  perpetually  into  such  miserable 
penury,  that  they  were  forced  to  devour  or  squeeze 
most  of  their  friends  and  servants,  to  cheat  with 
infamous  projects,  to  ransack  and  pillage  all  their 
provinces.  This  fashion  of  imperial  grandeur 
is  imitated  by  all  inferior  and  subordinate  sorts  of 
it,  as  if  it  were  a point  of  honour.  They  must  be 
cheated  of  a third  part  of  their  estates,  two  other 


OF  GREATNESS. 


129 


thirds  they  must  expend  in  vanity,  so  that  they 
remain  debtors  for  all  the  necessary  provisions 
of  life,  and  have  no  way  to  satisfy  those  debts 
but  out  of  the  succours  and  supplies  of  rapine  ; “ as 
riches  increase,”  says  Solomon,  “so  do  the  mouths 
that  devour  it.”  The  master  mouth  has  no  more 
than  before  ; the  owner,  methinks,  is  like  Oenus  in 
the  fable,  who  is  perpetually  winding  a rope  of  hay 
and  an  ass  at  the  end  perpetually  eating  it.  Out 
of  these  inconveniences  arises  naturally  one  more, 
which  is,  that  no  greatness  can  be  satisfied  or  con- 
tented with  itself  : still,  if  it  could  mount  up  a little 
higher,  it  would  be  happy ; if  it  could  but  gain  that 
point,  it  would  obtain  all  its  desires ; but  yet  at 
last,  when  it  is  got  up  to  the  very  top  of  the  peak 
of  Teneriffe,  it  is  in  very  great  danger  of  breaking 
its  neck  downwards,  but  in  no  possibility  of  ascend- 
ing upwards  into  the  seat  of  tranquillity  above  the 
moon.  The  first  ambitious  men  in  the  world,  the 
old  giants,  are  said  to  have  made  an  heroical  at- 
tempt of  scaling  Heaven  in  despite  of  the  gods,  and 
they  cast  Ossa  upon  Olympus  and  Pelion  upon  Ossa, 
e— 28 


130 


cowley’s  essays. 


two  or  three  mountains  more  they  thought  would 
have  done  their  business,  but  the  thunder  spoiled 
all  the  work  when  they  were  come  up  to  the  third 
storey  ; 

And  what  a noble  plot  was  crossed, 

And  what  a brave  design  was  lost. 

A famous  person  of  their  offspring,  the  late 
giant  of  our  nation,  when,  from  the  condition  of  a 
very  inconsiderable  captain,  he  had  made  himself 
lieutenant-general  of  an  army  of  little  Titans, 
which  was  his  first  mountain ; and  afterwards 
general,  which  was  his  second  ; and  after  that  ab- 
solute tyrant  of  three  kingdoms,  which  was  the 
third,  and  almost  touched  the  heaven  which  he 
affected  ; is  believed  to  have  died  with  grief  and  dis- 
content because  he  could  not  attain  to  the  honest 
name  of  a king,  and  the  old  formality  of  a crown, 
though  he  had  before  exceeded  the  power  by  a 
wicked  usurpation.  If  he  could  have  compassed 
that,  he  would  perhaps  have  wanted  something 
else  that  is  necessary  to  felicity,  and  pined  away 
for  the  want  of  the  title  of  an  emperor  or  a god. 


OF  GREATNESS. 


131 


The  reason  of  this  is,  that  greatness  has  no  reality 
in  nature,  but  is  a creature  of  the  fancy — a notion 
that  consists  only  in  relation  and  comparison.  It 
is  indeed  an  idol ; but  St.  Paul  teaches  us  that  an 
idol  is  nothing  in  the  world.  There  is  in  truth  no 
rising  or  meridian  of  the  sun,  but  only  in  respect 
to  several  places  : there  is  no  right  or  left,  no  upper 
hand  in  nature  ; everything  is  little  and  everything 
is  great  according  as  it  is  diversely  compared. 
There  may  be  perhaps  some  villages  in  Scotland  or 
Ireland  where  I might  be  a great  man ; and  in  that 
case  I should  be  like  Csesar — you  would  wonder 
how  Csesar  and  I should  be  like  one  another  in 
anything — and  choose  rather  to  be  the  first  man  of 
the  village  than  second  at  Pome.  Our  country  is 
called  Great  Britain,  in  regard  only  of  a lesser  of 
the  same  name ; it  would  be  but  a ridiculous 
epithet  for  it  when  we  consider  it  together  with 
the  kingdom  of  China.  That,  too,  is  but  a pitiful 
rood  of  ground  in  comparison  of  the  whole  earth 
besides ; and  this  whole  globe  of  earth,  which  we 
account  so  immense  a body,  is  but  one  point  or 


132 


COWLEY’S  ESSAYS. 


atom  in  relation  to  those  numberless  worlds  that 
are  scattered  up  and  down  in  the  infinite  space 
of  the  sky  which  we  behold.  The  other  many 
inconveniences  of  grandeur  I have  spoken  of 
dispersedly  in  several  chapters,  and  shall  end  this 
with  an  ode  of  Horace,  not  exactly  copied  but 
rudely  imitated. 

Horace.  Lib.  3.  Ode  1. 

Odi  profanum  vulgus,  etc. 

I. 

Hence,  ye  profane ; I hate  ye  all ; 

Both  the  great  vulgar,  and  the  small. 

To  virgin  minds,  which  yet  their  native  whiteness 
hold, 

JSTot  yet  discoloured  with  the  love  of  gold 
(That  jaundice  of  the  soul, 

Which  makes  it  look  so  gilded  and  so  foul), 

To  you,  ye  very  few,  these  truths  I tell ; 

The  muse  inspires  my  song,  hark,  and  observe  it 
well. 


OF  GREATNESS. 


133 


II. 

We  look  on  men,  and  wonder  at  such  odds 

’Twixt  things  that  were  the  same  by  birth ; 
We  look  on  kings  as  giants  of  the  earth, 

These  giants  are  but  pigmies  to  the  gods. 

The  humblest  bush  and  proudest  oak 
Are  but  of  equal  proof  against  the  thunder-stroke. 
Beauty  and  strength,  and  wit,  and  wealth,  and 
power 

Have  their  short  flourishing  hour, 

And  love  to  see  themselves,  and  smile, 

And  joy  in  their  pre-eminence  a while  ; 

Even  so  in  the  same  land, 

Poor  weeds,  rich  corn,  gay  flowers  together  stand ; 
Alas,  death  mows  down  all  with  an  impartial  hand. 

in. 

And  all  you  men,  whom  greatness  does  so  please, 
Ye  feast,  I fear,  like  Damocles. 

If  you  your  eyes  could  upwards  move, 

{But  you,  I fear,  think  nothing  is  above) 

You  would  perceive  by  what  a little  thread 


134 


cowley’s  essays. 


The  sword  still  hangs  over  your  head. 

No  tide  of  wine  would  drown  your  cares, 

No  mirth  or  music  over-noise  your  fears ; 

The  fear  of  death  would  you  so  watchful  keep. 
As  not  to  admit  the  image  of  it,  sleep. 

IV. 

Sleep  is  a god  too  proud  to  wait  in  palaces  ; 
And  yet  so  humble,  too,  as  not  to  scorn 
The  meanest  country  cottages ; 

His  poppy  grows  among  the  corn. 

The  halcyon  sleep  will  never  build  his  nest 
In  any  stormy  breast. 

’ Tis  not  enough  that  he  does  find 
Clouds  and  darkness  in  their  mind  ; 
Darkness  but  half  his  work  will  do, 

’Tis  not  enough;  he  must  find  quiet  too. 

V. 

The  man  who,  in  all  wishes  he  does  make. 
Does  only  Nature’s  counsel  take, 

That  wise  and  happy  man  will  never  fear 


OF  GREATNESS. 


135 


The  evil  aspects  of  the  year, 

Nor  tremble,  though  two  comets  should  appear. 
He  does  not  look  in  almanacks  to  see, 

Whether  he  fortunate  shall  be ; 

Let  Mars  and  Saturn  in  the  heavens  conjoin, 
And  what  they  please  against  the  world  design, 
So  Jupiter  within  him  shine. 


VI. 

If  of  their  pleasures  and  desires  no  end  be  found  ; 
God  to  their  cares  and  fears  will  set  no  bound. 

What  would  content  you  h Who  can  tell  ? 

Ye  fear  so  much  to  lose  what  you  have  got 
As  if  ye  liked  it  well. 

Ye  strive  for  more,  as  if  ye  liked  it  not. 

Go,  level  hills,  and  fill  up  seas, 

Spare  nought  that  may  your  wanton  fancy  please  ; 

But  trust  me,  when  you  have  done  all  this, 
Much  will  be  missing  still,  and  much  will  be 


amiss. 


136 


OF  AYAEICE. 

There  are  two  sorts  of  avarice ; the  one  is  but  of 
a bastard  kind ; and  that  is,  the  rapacious  appetite 
of  gain,  not  for  its  own  sake,  but  for  the  pleasure 
of  refunding  it  immediately  through  all  the  chan- 
nels of  pride  and  luxury.  The  other  is  the  true 
kind,  and  properly  so  called;  which  is  a restless 
and  unsatiable  desire  of  riches,  not  for  any  further 
end  of  use,  but  only  to  hoard,  and  preserve,  and 
perpetually  increase  them.  The  covetous  man  of 
the  first  kind  is  like  a greedy  ostrich,  which  de- 
vours any  metal,  but  it  is  with  an  intent  to  feed 
upon  it,  and  in  effect  it  makes  a shift  to  digest  and 
excern  it.  The  second  is  like  the  foolish  chough, 
which  loves  to  steal  money  only  to  hide  it.  The 
first  does  much  harm  to  mankind,  and  a little  good 
too,  to  some  few.  The  second  does  good  to  none ; 
no,  not  to  himself.  The  first  can  make  no  excuse 


OF  AVARICE. 


137 


to  God,  or  angels,  or  rational  men  for  his  actions. 
The  second  can  give  no  reason  or  colour,  not  to  the 
devil  himself,  for  what  he  does  : he  is  a slave  to 
Mammon  without  wages.  The  first  makes  a shift 
to  be  beloved  ; aye,  and  envied,  too,  by  some  people. 
The  second  is  the  universal  object  of  hatred  and 
contempt.  There  is  no  vice  has  been  so  pelted 
with  good  sentences,  and  especially  by  the  poets, 
who  have  pursued  it  with  stories  and  fables,  and 
allegories  and  allusions  ; and  moved,  as  we  say, 
every  stone  to  fling  at  it,  among  all  which,  I do  not 
remember  a more  fine  and  gentleman-like  correc- 
tion than  that  which  was  given  it  by  one  line  of 
Ovid’s. 

Desnnt  luxurice  multa , avaritice  omnia. 

Much  is  wanting  to  luxury  ; all  to  avarice. 

To  which  saying  I have  a mind  to  add  one  member 
and  render  it  thus  : — 

Poverty  wants  some,  luxury  many,  avarice  all 
things. 

Somebody  says  of  a virtuous  and  wise  man,  that 


138 


cowley’s  essays. 


having  nothing,  he  has  all.  This  is  just  his  anti- 
pode, who,  having  all  things,  yet  has  nothing. 
He  is  a guardian  eunuch  to  his  beloved  gold  : 
Audivi  eos  amatores  esse  maximos  sed  nil  potesse. 
They  are  the  fondest  lovers,  but  impotent  to 
enjoy. 

And,  oh,  what  man’s  condition  can  be  worse 

Than  his,  whom  plenty  starves,  and  blessings  curse  ? 

The  beggars  but  a common  fate  deplore. 

The  rich  poor  man ’s  emphatically  poor. 

I wonder  how  it  comes  to  pass  that  there  has 
never  been  any  law  made  against  him.  Against 
him,  do  I say  ? I mean  for  him,  as  there  is  a public 
provision  made  for  all  other  madmen.  It  is  very 
reasonable  that  the  king  should  appoint  some  per- 
sons (and  I think  the  courtiers  would  not  be 
against  this  proposition)  to  manage  his  estate  dur- 
ing his  life  (for  his  heirs  commonly  need  not  that 
care),  and  out  of  it  to  make  it  their  business  to  see 
that  he  should  not  want  alimony  befitting  his 
condition,  which  he  could  never  get  out  of  his  own 


OF  AVARICE. 


139 


cruel  fingers.  We  relieve  idle  vagrants  and  coun- 
terfeit beggars,  but  have  no  care  at  all  of  these 
really  poor  men,  who  are,  methinks,  to  be  respect- 
fully treated  in  regard  of  their  quality.  I might 
be  endless  against  them,  but  I am  almost  choked 
with  the  superabundance  of  the  matter.  Too 
much  plenty  impoverishes  me  as  it  does  them. 
I will  conclude  this  odious  subject  with  part  of 
Horace’s  first  Satire,  which  take  in  his  own  fami- 
liar style : — 

I admire,  Maecenas,  how  it  comes  to  pass, 

That  no  man  ever  yet  contented  was, 

Nor  is,  nor  perhaps  will  be,  with  that  state 
In  which  his  own  choice  plants  him,  or  his  fate. 
Happy  the  merchant  ! the  old  soldier  cries. 

The  merchant,  beaten  with  tempestuous  skies, 
Happy  the  soldier  ! one  half-hour  to  thee 
Gives  speedy  death  or  glorious  victory. 

The  lawyer,  knocked  up  early  from  his  rest 
By  restless  clients,  calls  the  peasant  blest. 

The  peasant,  when  his  labours  ill  succeed, 


140 


cowley’s  essays* 


Envies  the  mouth  which  only  talk  does  feed. 

’Tis  not,  I think  you’ll  say,  that  I want  store 
Of  instances,  if  here  I add  no  more, 

They  are  enough  to  reach  at  least  a mile 
Beyond  long  Orator  Fabius  his  style. 

But  hold,  you  whom  no  fortune  e’er  endears, 
Gentlemen,  malcontents,  and  mutineers, 

Who  bounteous  Jove  so  often  cruel  call, 

Behold,  Jove’s  now  resolved  to  please  you  all. 
Thou,  soldier,  be  a merchant ; merchant,  thou 
A soldier  be  ; . and  lawyer  to  the  plough. 

Change  all  your  stations  straight.  Why  do  they 
stay 

The  devil  a man  will  change  now  when  he  may. 
Were  I in  General  Jove’s  abused  case, 

By  Jove,  I’d  cudgel  this  rebellious  race ; 

But  he’s  too  good  ; be  all,  then,  as  you  were ; 
However,  make  the  best  of  what  you  are, 

And  in  that  state  be  cheerful  and  rejoice, 

Which  either  was  your  fate  or  was  your  choice. 

Ho  ; they  must  labour  yet,  and  sweat  and  toil, 

And  very  miserable  be  awhile. 


OF  AVARICE. 


141 


But  ’tis  with  a design  only  to  gain 
What  may  their  age  with  plenteous  ease  main- 
tain ; 

The  prudent  pismire  does  this  lesson  teach, 

And  industry  to  lazy  mankind  preach. 

The  little  drudge  does  trot  about  and  sweat, 

Nor  does  he  straight  devour  all  he  can  get, 

But  in  his  temperate  mouth  carries  it  home, 

A stock  for  winter  which  he  knows  must  come. 
And  when  the  rolling  world  to  creatures  here 
Turns  up  the  deformed  wrong  side  of  the  year, 
And  shuts  him  in  with  storms  and  cold  and 
wet, 

He  cheerfully  does  his  past  labours  eat. 

Oh,  does  he  so  ] your  wise  example,  the  ant 
Does  not  at  all  times  rest,  and  plenty  want. 

But,  weighing  justly  a mortal  ant’s  condition, 
Divides  his  life  ’twixt  labour  and  fruition. 

Thee  neither  heat,  nor  storms,  nor  wet,  nor  cold 
From  thy  unnatural  diligence  can  withhold,’ 

To  the  Indies  thou  wouldst  run  rather  than  see 
Another,  though  a friend,  richer  than  thee. 


142 


cowley’s  essays 


Fond  man  ! what  good  or  beauty  can  be  found 
In  heaps  of  treasure  buried  under  ground  ] 

Which,  rather  than  diminished  e’er  to  see, 

Thou  wouldst  thyself,  too,  buried  with  them  be  : 
And  what’s  the  difference  ] is’t  not  quite  as  bad 
Never  to  use,  as  never  to  have  had  ] 

In  thy  vast  barns  millions  of  quarters  store, 

Thy  belly,  for  all  that,  will  hold  no  more 
Than  mine  does.  Every  baker  makes  much  bread, 
What  then]  He’s  with  no  more  than  others 
fed. 

Do  you  within  the  bounds  of  Nature  live, 

And  to  augment  your  own  you  need  not  strive , 
One  hundred  acres  will  no  less  for  you 
Your  life’s  whole  business  than  ten  thousand  do. 
But  pleasant  ’tis  to  take  from  a great  store ; 

What,  man]  though  you’re  resolved  to  take  nc 
more 

Than  I do  from  a small  one ; if  your  will 
Be  but  a pitcher  or  a pot  to  fill, 

To  some  great  river  for  it  must  you  go, 

When  a clear  spring  just  at  your  feet  does  flow  t 


OF  AVARICE 


143 


Give  me  the  spring  which  does  to  human  use, 

Safe,  easy,  and  untroubled  stores  produce ; 

He  who  scorns  these,  and  needs  will  drink  at 
Nile, 

Must  run  the  danger  of  the  crocodile  ; 

And  of  the  rapid  stream  itself  which  may, 

At  unawares  bear  him  perhaps  away. 

In  a full  flood  Tantalus  stands,  his  skin 
Washed  o’er  in  vain,  for  ever  dry  within ; 

He  catches  at  the  stream  with  greedy  lips, 

From  his  touched  mouth  the  wanton  torment  slips. 
You  laugh  now,  and  expand  your  careful  brow : 
’Tis  finely  said,  but  what’s  all  this  to  you  ? 

Change  but  the  name,  this  fable  is  thy  story, 

Thou  in  a flood  of  useless  wealth  dost  glory, 

Which  thou  canst  only  touch,  but  never  taste ; 

The  abundance  still,  and  still  the  want  does  last. 
The  treasures  of  the  gods  thou  wouldst  not  spare, 
But  when  they’re  made  thine  own,  they  sacred 
are, 

And  must  be  kept  with  reverence,  as  if  thou 
No  other  use  of  precious  gold  didst  know 


144 


COWLEY’S  ESSAYS. 


But  that  of  curious  pictures  to  delight 
With  the  fair  stamp  thy  virtuoso  sight. 

The  only  true  and  genuine  use  is  this, 

To  buy  the  things  which  nature  cannot  miss 
Without  discomfort,  oil,  and  vital  bread, 

And  wine  by  which  the  life  of  life  is  fed, 

And  all  those  few  things  else  by  which  we  live  ; 
All  that  remains  is  given  for  thee  to  give. 

If  cares  and  troubles,  envy,  grief,  and  fear, 

The  bitter  fruits  be  which  fair  riches  bear, 

If  a new  poverty  grow  out  of  store, 

The  old  plain  way,  ye  gods  ! let  me  be  poor. 


A Paraphrase  on  an  Ode  in  Horace’s  Third 
Book,  beginning  thus  : — 

“ Inclusam  Danaen  turris  aliened 

A tower  of  brass,  one  would  have  said, 

And  locks,  and  bolts,  and  iron  bars, 

And  guards  as  strict  as  in  the  heat  of  wars 


OF  AVARICE. 


145 


Might  have  preserved  one  innocent  maidenhood. 
The  jealous  father  thought  he  well  might  spare 
All  further  jealous  care ; 

And  as  he  walked,  to  himself  alone  he  smiled 
To  think  how  Venus’  arts  he  had  beguiled  ; 
And  when  he  slept  his  rest  was  deep, 

But  Venus  laughed  to  see  and  hear  him  sleep. 

She  taught  the  amorous  Jove 
A magical  receipt  in  love, 

Which  armed  him  stronger  and  which  helped  him 
more 

Than  all  his  thunder  did  and  his  almightyship 
before. 


il. 

She  taught  him  love’s  elixir,  by  which  art 
His  godhead  into  gold  he  did  convert ; 

No  guards  did  then  his  passage  stay, 

He  passed  with  ease,  gold  was  the  word  ; 
Subtle  as  lightning,  bright,  and  quick,  and  fierce. 
Gold  through  doors  and  walls  did  pierce  ; 

And  as  that  works  sometimes  upon  the  sword, 


146 


cowley’s  essays 


Melted  the  maiden  dread  away, 

Even  in  the  secret  scabbard  where  it  lay. 

The  prudent  Macedonian  king, 

To  blow  up  towns,  a golden  mine  did  spring  ; 

He  broke  through  gates  with  this  petar, 

’Tis  the  great  art  of  peace,  the  engine  ’tis  of 
war, 

And  fleets  and  armies  follow  it  afar; 

The  ensign  ’tis  at  land,  and  ’tis  the  seaman’s  star. 

hi. 

Let  all  the  world  slave  to  this  tyrant  be, 

Creature  to  this  disguised  deity, 

Yet  it  shall  never  conquer  me. 

A. guard  of  virtues  will  not  let  it  pass, 

And  wisdom  is  a tower  of  stronger  brass. 

The  muses’  laurel,  round  my  temples  spread, 

Does  from  this  lightning’s  force  secure  my  head, 

N or  will  I lift  it  up  so  high, 

As  in  the  violent  meteor’s  way  to  lie. 

Wealth  for  its  power  do  we  honour  and  adore? 

The  things  we  hate,  ill  fate,  and  death,  have  more. 


OF  AVARICE. 


147 


IV. 

From  towns  and  courts,  camps  of  the  rich  and 
great, 

The  vast  Xerxean  army,  I retreat, 

And  to  the  small  Laconic  forces  fly 
Which  hold  the  straits  of  poverty. 

Cellars  and  granaries  in  vain  we  fill 

With  all  the  bounteous  summer’s  store : 

If  the  mind  thirst  and  hunger  still, 

The  poor  rich  man  Js  emphatically  poor. 

Slaves  to  the  things  we  too  much  prize, 

We  masters  grow  of  all  that  we  despise. 

v. 

A field  of  corn,  a fountain,  and  a wood, 

Is  all  the  wealth  by  nature  understood. 

The  monarch  on  whom  fertile  Nile  bestows 
All  which  that  grateful  earth  can  bear, 

Deceives  himself,  if  he  suppose 
That  more  than  this  falls  to  his  share. 

Whatever  an  estate  does  beyond  this  afford, 

Is  not  a rent  paid  to  the  Lord ; 


148 


COWLEY’S  ESSAYS. 


But  is  a tax  illegal  and  unjust, 

Exacted  from  it  by  tbe  tyrant  lust. 

Much  will  always  wanting  be, 

To  him  who  much  desires.  Thrice  happy  he 
To  whom  the  wise  indulgency  of  Heaven, 

With  sparing  hand  but  just  enough  has  given. 


149 


THE  DANGERS  OE  AN  HONEST 
MAN  IN  MUCH  COMPANY. 

If  twenty  thousand  naked  Americans  were  not 
able  to  resist  the  assaults  of  but  twenty  well-armed 
Spaniards,  I see  little  possibility  for  one  honest 
man  to  defend  himself  against  twenty  thousand 
knaves,  who  are  all  furnished  cap-h-pie  with  the 
defensive  arms  of  worldly  prudence,  and  the  offen- 
sive, too,  of  craft  and  malice.  He  will  find  no  less 
odds  than  this  against  him  if  he  have  much  to  do 
in  human  affairs.  The  only  advice,  therefore,  which 
I can  give  him  is,  to  be  sure  not  to  venture  his 
person  any  longer  in  the  open  campaign,  to  retreat 
and  entrench  himself,  to  stop  up  all  avenues,  and 
draw  up  all  bridges  against  so  numerous  an  enemy. 
The  truth  of  it  is,  that  a man  in  much  business 
must  either  make  himself  a knave,  or  else  the 
world  will  make  him  a fool : and  if  the  injury 


150 


COWLEY  S ESSAYS 


went  no  farther  than  the  being  laughed  at,  a wise 
man  would  content  himself  with  the  revenge  of 
retaliation  : but  the  case  is  much  worse,  for  these 
civil  cannibals  too,  as  well  as  the  wild  ones,  not 
only  dance  about  such  a taken  stranger,  but  at  last 
devour  him.  A sober  man  cannot  get  too  soon  out 
of  drunken  company ; though  they  be  never  so  kind 
and  merry  among  themselves,  it  is  not  unpleasant 
only,  but  dangerous  to  him.  Do  ye  wonder  that  a 
virtuous  man  should  love  to  be  alone  ? It  is  hard 
for  him  to  be  otherwise ; he  is  so,  when  he  is 
among  ten  thousand  ; neither  is  the  solitude  so 
uncomfortable  to  be  alone  without  any  other 
creature,  as  it  is  to  be  alone  in  the  midst  of  wild 
beasts.  Man  is  to  man  all  kind  of  beasts — a 
fawning  dog,  a roaring  lion,  a thieving  fox,  a 
robbing  wolf,  a dissembling  crocodile,  a treacherous 
decoy,  and  a rapacious  vulture.  The  civilest,  me- 
thinks,  of  all  nations,  are  those  whom  we  account 
the  most  barbarous  ; there  is  some  moderation  and 
good  nature  in  the  Toupinambaltians  who  eat  no 
men  but  their  enemies,  whilst  we  learned  and 


DANGERS  OF  AN  HONEST  MAN. 


151 


polite  and  Christian  Europeans,  like  so  many  pikes 
and  sharks,  prey  upon  everything  that  we  can 
swallow.  It  is  the  great  boast  of  eloquence  and 
philosophy,  that  they  first  congregated  men  dis- 
persed, united  them  into  societies,  and  built  up  the 
houses  and  the  walls  of  cities.  I wish  they  could 
unravel  all  they  had  woven  ; that  we  might  have 
our  woods  and  our  innocence  again  instead  of  our 
castles  and  our  policies.  They  have  assembled 
many  thousands  of  scattered  people  into  one  body  : 
it  is  true,  they  have  done  so,  they  have  brought  them 
together  into  cities  to  cozen,  and  into  armies  to 
murder  one  another ; they  found  them  hunters 
and  fishers  of  wild  creatures,  they  have  made  them 
hunters  and  fishers  of  their  brethren ; they  boast 
to  have  reduced  them  to  a state  of  peace,  when  the 
truth  is  they  have  only  taught  them  an  art  of 
war ; they  have  framed,  I must  confess,  wholesome 
laws  for  the  restraint  of  vice,  but  they  raised  first 
that  devil  which  now  they  conjure  and  cannot 
bind ; though  there  were  before  no  punishments 
for  wickedness,  yet  there  was  less  committed 


152 


COWLEY'S  ESSAJTS. 


because  there  were  no  rewards  for  it.  But  the 
men  who  praise  philosophy  from  this  topic  are 
much  deceived ; let  oratory  answer  for  itself,  the 
tinkling,  perhaps,  of  that  may  unite  a swarm  : it 
never  was  the  work  of  philosophy  to  assemble 
multitudes,  but  to  regulate  only,  and  govern  them 
when  they  were  assembled,  to  make  the  best  of  an 
evil,  and  bring  them,  as  much  as  is  possible,  to  unity 
again.  Avarice  and  ambition  only  were  the  first, 
builders  of  towns,  and  founders  of  empire ; they 
said,  “ Go  to,  let  us  build  us  a city  and  a tower 
whose  top  may  reach  unto  heaven,  and  let  us  make 
us  a name,  lest  we  be  scattered  abroad  upon  the 
face  of  the  earth.”  What  was  the  beginning  of 
Rome,  the  metropolis  of  all  the  world  ] what  was 
it  but  a concourse  of  thieves,  and  a sanctuary 
of  criminals  ? it  was  justly  named  by  the  augury 
of  no  less  than  twelve  vultures,  and  the  founder 
cemented  his  walls  with  the  blood  of  his  brother. 
Not  unlike  to  this  was  the  beginning  even  of  the 
first  town,  too,  in  the  world,  and  such  is  the 
original  sin  of  most  cities : their  actual  increase 


DANGERS  OP  AN  HONEST  MAN. 


153 


daily  with  their  age  and  growth ; the  more  people, 
the  more  wicked  all  of  them.  Every  one  brings  in 
his  part  to  inflame  the  contagion,  which  becomes  at 
last  so  universal  and  so  strong,  that  no  precepts 
can  be  sufficient  preservatives,  nor  anything  secure 
our  safety,  but  flight  from  among  the  infected. 
We  ought,  in  the  choice  of  a situation,  to  regard 
above  all  things  the  healthfulness  of  the  place,  and 
the  healthfulness  of  it  for  the  mind  rather  than 
for  the  body.  But  suppose  (which  is  hardly  to  be 
supposed)  we  had  antidote  enough  against  this 
poison ; nay,  suppose,  further,  we  were  always  and 
at  all  places  armed  and  provided  both  against  the 
assaults  of  hostility  and  the  mines  of  treachery, 
it  will  yet  be  but  an  uncomfortable  life  to  be  ever  in 
alarms ; though  we  were  compassed  round  with  fire 
to  defend  ourselves  from  wild  beasts,  the  lodging 
would  be  unpleasant,  because  we  must  always  be 
obliged  to  watch  that  fire,  and  to  fear  no  less  the 
defects  of  our  guard  than  the  diligences  of  our 
enemy.  The  sum  of  this  is,  that  a virtuous  man  is 
in  danger  to  be  trod  upon  and  destroyed  in  the 


154 


COWLEY’S  ESSAYS. 


crowd  of  his  contraries ; nay,  which  is  worse,  to  be 
changed  and  corrupted  by  them,  and  that  it  is  im- 
possible to  escape  both  these  inconveniences  with- 
out so  much  caution  as  will  take  away  the  whole 
quiet,  that  is,  the  happiness  of  his  life.  Ye  see, 
then,  what  he  may  lose  ; but,  I pray,  what  can  he 
get  there  % Quid  Romce  faciam  ? Mentiri  nescio . 
What  should  a man  of  truth  and  honesty  do  at 
Rome  ? he  can  neither  understand,  nor  speak  the 
language  of  the  place  ; a naked  man  may  swim  in 
the  sea,  but  it  is  not  the  way  to  catch  fish  there  ; 
they  are  likelier  to  devour  him  than  he  them,  if  he 
bring  no  nets  and  use  no  deceits.  I think,  there- 
fore, it  was  wise  and  friendly  advice  which  Martial 
gave  to  Fabian  when  he  met  him  newly  arrived 
at  Rome. 

Honest  and  poor,  faithful  in  word  and  thought ; 

What  has  thee,  Fabian,  to  the  city  brought  ? 

Thou  neither  the  buffoon  nor  bawd  canst  play, 

Nor  with  false  whispers  the  innocent  betray  : 

Nor  corrupt  wives,  nor  from  rich  beldams  get 

A living  by  thy  industry  and  sweat : 

Nor  with  vain  promises  and  projects  cheat, 


DANGERS  OF  AN  HONEST  MAN. 


155 


Nor  bribe  or  flatter  any  of  tbe  great. 

But  you’re  a man  of  learning,  prudent,  just : 

A man  of  courage,  firm,  and  fit  for  trust. 

Why,  you  may  stay,  and  live  unenvied  here  ; 

But,  ’faith  ! go  back,  and  keep  you  where  you  were. 

Nay,  if  nothing  of  all  this  were  in  the  case,  yet 
the  very  sight  of  uncleanness  is  loathsome  to  the 
cleanly ; the  sight  of  folly  and  impiety  vexatious 
to  the  wise  and  pious. 

Lucretius,  by  his  favour,  though  a good  poet, 
was  but  an  ill-natured  man,  when  he  said,  “ It  was 
delightful  to  see  other  men  in  a great  storm.” 
And  no  less  ill-natured  should  I think  Democritus, 
who  laughed  at  all  the  world,  but  that  he  retired 
himself  so  much  out  of  it  that  we  may  perceive 
he  took  no  great  pleasure  in  that  kind  of  mirth, 
I have  been  drawn  twice  or  thrice  by  company  to 
go  to  Bedlam,  and  have  seen  others  very  much 
delighted  with  the  fantastical  extravagancy 
of  so  many  various  madnesses,  which  upon  me 
wrought  so  contrary  an  effect,  that  I always 
returned  not  only  melancholy,  but  even  sick  with 


156 


COWLEY’S  ESSAYS. 


the  sight.  My  compassion  there  was  perhaps  too 
tender,  for  I meet  a thousand  madmen  abroad, 
without  any  perturbation,  though,  to  weigh  the 
matter  justly,  the  total  loss  of  reason  is* less  de- 
plorable than  the  total  depravation  of  it.  An 
exact  judge  of  human  blessings,  of  riches,  honours, 
beauty,  even  of  wit  itself,  should  pity  the  abuse  of 
them  more  than  the  want. 

Briefly,  though  a wise  man  could  pass  never 
so  securely  through  the  great  roads  of  human  life, 
yet  he  will  meet  perpetually  with  so  many  objects 
and  occasions  of  compassion,  grief,  shame,  anger, 
hatred,  indignation,  and  all  passions  but  envy  (for 
he  will  find  nothing  to  deserve  that)  that  he  had 
better  strike  into  some  private  path  ; nay,  go  so 
far,  if  he  could,  out  of  the  common  way,  ut  nec 
facta  audiat  Pelopidarum j that  he  might  not  so 
much  as  hear  of  the  actions  of  the  sons  of  Adam. 
But,  whither  shall  we  fly,  then  ? into  the  deserts, 
like  the  ancient  hermits  h 

Qua  terra  patet  fera  regnat  Erynnis. 

In  f acinus  jurasse  putes. 


DANGERS  OF  AN  HONEST  MAN. 


157 


One  would  think  that  all  mankind  had  bound 
themselves  by  an  oath  to  do  all  the  wickedness 
they  can ; that  they  had  all,  as  the  Scripture 
speaks,  sold  themselves  to  sin  : the  difference  only  is, 
that  some  are  a little  more  crafty  (and  but  a little, 
God  knows)  in  making  of  the  bargain.  I thought, 
when  I went  first  to  dwell  in  the  country,  that 
without  doubt  I should  have  met  there  with  the 
simplicity  of  the  old  poetical  golden  age  : I thought 
to  have  found  no  inhabitants  there,  but  such  as 
the  shepherds  of  Sir  Philip  Sidney  in  Arcadia,  or 
of  Monsieur  d’Urfe  upon  the  banks  of  Lignon ; 
and  began  to  consider  with  myself,  which  way  I 
might  recommend  no  less  to  posterity  the  happi- 
ness and  innocence  of  the  men  of  Chertsey  : but  to 
confess  the  truth,  I perceived  quickly,  by  in- 
fallible demonstrations,  that  I was  still  in  old 
England,  and  not  in  Arcadia,  or  La  Eorrest ; that 
if  I could  not  content  myself  with  anything  less 
than  exact  fidelity  in  human  conversation,  I had 
almost  as  good  go  back  and  seek  for  it  in  the 
Court,  or  the  Exchange,  or  Westminster  HalL  I 


158 


COWLEY’S  ESSAYS. 


ask  again,  then,  whither  shall  we  fly,  or  what  shall 
we  do  i The  world  may  so  come  in  a man’s  way 
that  he  cannot  choose  but  salute  it ; he  must  take 
heed,  though,  not  to  go  a whoring  after  it.  If  by 
any  lawful  vocation  or  just  necessity  men  happen 
to  be  married  to  it,  I can  only  give  them  St.  Paul’s 
advice  : “ Brethren,  the  time  is  short ; it  remains 
that  they  that  have  wives  be  as  though  they  had 
none.  But  I would  that  all  men  were  even  as  1 
myself.” 

In  all  cases  they  must  be  sure  that  they  do 
mundum  ducere , and  not  mundo  nubere . They 
must  retain  the  superiority  and  headship  over  it : 
happy  are  they  who  can  get  out  of  the  sight  of 
this  deceitful  beauty,  that  they  may  not  be  led  so 
much  as  into  temptation ; who  have  not  only 
quitted  the  metropolis,  but  can  abstain  from  ever 
seeing  the  next  market  town  of  their  country. 


DANGERS  OP  AN  HONEST  MAN. 


159 


CL  AUDI  AN’S  OLD  MAN  OF  YERONA. 


Happy  the  man  who  his  whole  time  doth  bound 
Within  the  enclosure  of  his  little  ground. 

Happy  the  man  whom  the  same  humble  place 
(The  hereditary  cottage  of  his  race) 

From  his  first  rising  infancy  has  known, 

And  by  degrees  sees  gently  bending  down, 

With  natural  propension  to  that  earth 

Which  both  preserved  his  life,  and  gave  him  birth. 

Him  no  false  distant  lights  by  fortune  set, 

Could  ever  into  foolish  wanderings  get. 

He  never  dangers  either  saw,  or  feared, 

The  dreadful  storms  at  sea  he  never  heard. 

He  never  heard  the  shrill  alarms  of  war, 

Or  the  worse  noises  of  the  lawyers’  bar. 

No  change  of  consuls  marks  to  him  the  year, 

The  change  of  seasons  is  his  calendar. 

The  cold  and  heat  winter  and  summer  shows, 
Autumn  by  fruits,  and  spring  by  flowers  he  knows. 


160 


cowley’s  essays. 


He  measures  time  by  landmarks,  and  has  found 
For  the  whole  day  the  dial  of  his  ground. 

A neighbouring  wood  born  with  himself  he  sees, 
And  loves  his  old  contemporary  trees. 

Has  only  heard  of  near  Yerona’s  name, 

And  knows  it,  like  the  Indies,  but  by  fame. 

Does  with  a like  concernment  notice  take 
Of  the  Red  Sea,  and  of  Benacus  lake. 

Thus  health  and  strength  he  to  a third  age  enjoys. 
And  sees  a long  posterity  of  boys. 

About  the  spacious  world  let  other  roam, 

The  voyage  Life  is  longest  made  at  home. 


161 


THE  SHORTNESS  OF  LIFE  AND 
UNCERTAINTY  OF  RICHES. 

If  you  should  see  a man  who  were  to  cross  from 
Dover  to  Calais,  run  about  very  busy  and  solicitous, 
and  trouble  himself  many  weeks  before  in  making 
provisions  for  the  voyage,  would  you  commend  him 
for  a cautious  and  discreet  person,  or  laugh  at  him 
for  a timorous  and  impertinent  coxcomb  ? A man 
who  is  excessive  in  his  pains  and  diligence,  and  who 
consumes  the  greatest  part  of  his  time  in  furnish- 
ing the  remainder  with  all  conveniences  and  even 
superfluities,  is  to  angels  and  wise  men  no  less  ridi- 
culous ; he  does  as  little  consider  the  shortness  of 
his  passage  that  he  might  proportion  his  cares  ac- 
cordingly. It  is,  alas,  so  narrow  a strait  betwixt 
the  womb  and  the  grave,  that  it  might  be  called  the 
Pas  de  Vie , as  well  as  the  Pas  de  Calais . We  are 
all  i^fiepot  as  Pindar  calls  us,  creatures  of  a day, 
and  therefore  our  Saviour  bounds  our  desires  to  that 


f— 28 


162 


cowley’s  essays. 


little  space ; as  if  it  were  very  probable  that  every 
day  should  be  our  last,  we  are  taught  to  demand  even 
bread  for  no  longer  a time.  The  sun  ought  not  to 
set  upon  our  covetousness,  no  more  than  upon  our 
anger ; but  as  to  God  Almighty  a thousand  years 
are  as  one  day,  so,  in  direct  opposition,  one  day  to 
the  covetous  man  is  as  a thousand  years,  tam 
brevi  fortis  jaculatur  cevo  multa , so  far  he  shoots 
beyond  his  butt.  One  would  think  he  were  of  the 
opinion  of  the  Millenaries , and  hoped  for  so  long  a 
reign  upon  earth.  The  patriarchs  before  the  flood, 
who  enjoyed  almost  such  a life,  made,  we  are  sure, 
less  stores  for  the  maintaining  of  it ; they  who  lived 
nine  hundred  years  scarcely  provided  for  a few  days; 
we  who  live  but  a few  days,  provide  at  least  for 
nine  hundred  years.  What  a strange  alteration  is 
this  of  human  life  and  manners  ! and  yet  we  see 
an  imitation  of  it  in  every  man’s  particular  ex- 
perience, for  we  begin  not  the  cares  of  life  till  it  be 
half  spent,  and  still  increase  them  as  that  decreases. 
What  is  there  among  the  actions  of  beasts  so  illo- 
gical and  repugnant  to  reason?  When  they  do 


SHORTNESS  OF  LIFE. 


163 


anything  which  seems  to  proceed  from  that  which 
we  call  reason,  we  disdain  to  allow  them  that  perfec- 
tion, and  attribute  it  only  to  a natural  instinct.  If 
we  could  but  learn  to  number  our  days  (as  we  are 
taught  to  pray  that  we  might)  we  should  adjust 
much  better  our  other  accounts, but  whilst  we  never 
consider  an  end  of  them,  it  is  no  wonder  if  our  cares 
for  them  be  without  end  too.  Horace  advises  very 
wisely,  and  in  excellent  good  words,  spatio  brevi 
spem  longam  reseces ; from  a short  life  cut  off  all 
hopes  that  grow  too  long.  They  must  be  pruned 
away  like  suckers  that  choke  the  mother-plant,  and 
hinder  it  from  bearing  fruit.  And  in  another  place 
to  the  same  sense,  Vitce  summa  brevis  spem  nos 
vetat  inchocire  longam , which  Seneca  does  not  mend 
when  he  says,  Oh  quanta  dementia  est  spes  longas 
inchoantium!  but  he  gives  an  example  there  of 
an  acquaintance  of  his  named  Senecio,  who  from  a 
very  mean  beginning  by  great  industry  in  turning 
about  of  money  through  all  ways  of  gain,  had  at- 
tained to  extraordinary  riches,  but  died  on  a sudden 
after  having  supped  merrily,  In  ipso  actu  benb 


164 


cowley’s  essays. 


cedentium  rerum , in  ipso  procurrentis  fortunes 
impetu\  in  the  full  course  of  his  good  fortune,  when 
she  had  a high  tide  and  a stiff  gale  and  all  her  sails 
on ; upon  which  occasion  he  cries,  out  of  Yirgil : 

Insere  nunc  Melibcee  pyros,  pone  ordine  vites : 

Go  to,  Melibasus,  now, 

Go  graff  thy  orchards  and  thy  vineyards  plant ; 

Behold  the  fruit ! 

For  this  Senecio  I have  no  compassion,  because  he 
was  taken,  as  we  say,  in  ipso  facto , still  labouring  in  the 
work  of  avarice ; but  the  poor  rich  man  in  St.  Luke 
(whose  case  was  not  like  this)  I could  pity,  methinks, 
if  the  Scripture  would  permit  me,  for  he  seems  to 
have  been  satisfied  at  last ; he  confesses  he  had  enough 
for  many  years ; he  bids  his  soul  take  its  ease ; and 
yet  for  all  that,  God  says  to  him,  “ Thou  fool,  this 
night  thy  soul  shall  be  required  of  thee,  and  the 
things  thou  hast  laid  up,  whom  shall  they  belong 
to  V9  Where  shall  we  find  the  causes  of  this  bitter 
reproach  and  terrible  judgment ; we  may  find,  I 
think,  two,  and  God  perhaps  saw  more.  First,  that 


SHORTNESS  OF  LIFE. 


165 


he  did  not  intend  true  rest  to  the  soul,  but  only  to 
change  the  employments  of  it  from  avarice  to 
luxury ; his  design  is  to  eat  and  to  drink,  and  to  be 
merry.  Secondly,  that  he  went  on  too  long  before 
he  thought  of  resting ; the  fulness  of  his  old  barns 
had  not  sufficed  him,  he  would  stay  till  he  was 
forced  to  build  new  ones,  and  God  meted  out  to 
him  in  the  same  measure  ; since  he  would  have  more 
riches  than  his  life  could  contain,  God  destroyed  his 
life  and  gave  the  fruits  of  it  to  another. 

Thus  God  takes  away  sometimes  the  man  from 
his  riches,  and  no  less  frequently  riches  from  the 
man  : what  hope  can  there  be  of  such  a marriage 
where  both  parties  are  so  fickle  and  uncertain  ; by 
what  bonds  can  such  a couple  be  kept  long  toge- 
ther t 

I. 

Why  dost  thou  heap  up  wealth,  which  thou  must 
quit, 

Or,  what  is  worse,  be  left  by  it  ? 

Why  dost  thou  load  thyself,  when  thou’rt  to  fly, 

O man  ordained  to  die  ? 


166 


cowley’s  essays. 


ii. 

Why  dost  thou  build  up  stately  rooms  on  high, 
Thou  who  art  underground  to  lie  ? 

Thou  sow’st  and  plantest,  but  no  fruit  must  see ; 
For  death,  alas ! is  sowing  thee. 

HI, 

Suppose,  thou  fortune  couldst  to  tameness  bring, 
And  clip  or  pinion  her  wing ; 

Suppose  thou  couldst  on  fate  so  far  prevail 
As  not  to  cut  off  thy  entail. 

IV. 

Yet  death  at  all  that  subtlety  will  laugh, 

Death  will  that  foolish  gardener  mock 
Who  does  a slight  and  annual  plant  engraff, 

Upon  a lasting  stock. 

Y. 

Thou  dost  thyself  wise  and  industrious  deem ; 

A mighty  husband  thou  wouldst  seem  ; 

Fond  man ! like  a bought  slave,  thou,  all  the  while 
Dost  but  for  others  sweat  and  toil. 


SHORTNESS  OF  LIFE. 


167 


VI. 

Officious  fool ! that  needs  must  meddling  be 
In  business  that  concerns  not  thee  ! 

For  when  to  future  years  thou  extend’st  thy  cares, 
Thou  deal’st  in  other  men’s  affairs. 

VII. 

Even  aged  men,  as  if  they  truly  were 
Children  again,  for  age  prepare, 

Provisions  for  long  travail  they  design 
In  the  last  point  of  their  short  line. 

VIII. 

Wisely  the  ant  against  poor  winter  hoards 
The  stock  which  summer’s  wealth  affords, 

in  grasshoppers,  that  must  at  autumn  die, 

How  vain  were  such  an  industry. 

IX. 

Of  power  and  honour  the  deceitful  light 
Might  half  excuse  our  cheated  sight, 

If  it  of  life  the  whole  small  time  wotild  stay. 

And  be  our  sunshine  all  the  day. 


168 


COWLEY’S  ESSAYS. 


X. 

Like  lightning  that,  begot  but  in  a cloud, 
Though  shining  bright,  and  speaking  loud, 

Whilst  it  begins,  concludes  its  violent  race, 
And  where  it  gilds,  it  wounds  the  place. 

XI. 

Oh,  scene  of  fortune,  which  dost  fair  appear 
Only  to  men  that  stand  not  near. 

Proud  poverty,  that  tinsel  bravery  wears, 
And  like  a rainbow,  painted  tears. 

XII. 

Be  prudent,  and  the  shore  in  prospect  keep, 
In  a weak  boat  trust  not  the  deep. 

Placed  beneath  envy,  above  envying  rise  ; 
Pity  great  men,  great  things  despise. 

XIII. 

The  wise  example  of  the  heavenly  lark, 

Thy  fellow  poet,  Cowley,  mark, 

Above  the  clouds  let  thy  proud  music  sound, 
Thy  humble  nest  build  on  the  ground. 


169 


THE  DANGER  OF  PROCRASTI- 
NATION. 

A letter  to  Mr . S.  L. 

I am  glad  that  you  approve  and  applaud  my  design 
of  withdrawing  myself  from  all  tumult  and  busi- 
ness of  the  world  and  consecrating  the  little  rest 
of  my  time  to  those  studies  to  which  nature  had 
so  motherly  inclined  me,  and  from  which  fortune 
like  a step-mother  has  so  long  detained  me.  But 
nevertheless,  you  say — which  But  is  serugo  mera,  a 
rust  which  spoils  the  good  metal  it  grows  upon. 
But,  you  say,  you  would  advise  me  not  to  precipitate 
that  resolution,  but  to  stay  a while  longer  with 
patience  and  complaisance,  till  I had  gotten  such 
an  estate  as  might  afford  me,  according  to  the  saying 
of  that  person  whom  you  and  I love  very  much, 
and  would  believe  as  soon  as  another  man,  cum 
dignitate  otium.  This  were  excellent  advice  to 


170 


cowley’s  essays. 


Joshua,  who  could  bid  the  sun  stay  too.  But  there’s 
no  fooling  with  life  when  it  is  once  turned  beyond 
forty.  The  seeking  for  a fortune  then  is  but  a 
desperate  after  game,  it  is  a hundred  to  one  if  a 
man  fling  two  sixes  and  recover  all ; especially  if 
his  hand  be  no  luckier  than  mine.  There  is  some 
help  for  all  the  defects  of  fortune,  for  if  a man 
cannot  attain  to  the  length  of  his  wishes,  he  may 
have  his  remedy  by  cutting  of  them  shorter.  Epi- 
curus writes  a letter  to  Idomeneus,  who  was  then  a 
very  powerful,  wealthy,  and  it  seems  bountiful 
person,  to  recommend  to  him,  who  had  made  so 
many  men  rich,  one  Pythocles,  a friend  of  his, 
whom  he  desired  to  be  made  a rich  man  too : 
But  I entreat  you  that  you  would  not  do  it  just 
the  same  way  as  you  have  done  to  many  less 
deserving  persons,  but  in  the  most  gentlemanly 
manner  of  obliging  him,  which  is  not  to  add  any- 
thing to  his  estate,  but  to  take  something  from  his 
desires.  The  sum  of  this  is,  that  for  the  uncertain 
hopes  of  some  conveniences  we  ought  not  to  defer 
the  execution  of  a work  that  is  necessary,  especially 


171 


DANGER  OF  PROCRASTINATION. 

when  the  use  of  those  things  which  we  would  stay 
for  may  otherwise  be  supplied,  but  the  loss  of  time 
never  recovered.  Nay,  further  yet,  though  we  were 
sure  to  obtain  all  that  we  had  a mind  to,  though 
we  were  sure  of  getting  never  so  much  by  con- 
tinuing the  game,  yet  when  the  light  of  life  is  so 
near  going  out,  and  ought  to  be  so  precious,  Le  jeu 
ne  vaut  pas  la  chandelle , the  play  is  not  worth 
the  expense  of  the  candle.  After  having  been  long 
tossed  in  a tempest,  if  our  masts  be  standing,  and 
we  have  still  sail  and  tackling  enough  to  carry  us 
to  our  port,  it  is  no  matter  for  the  want  of  streamers 
and  topgallants  ; utere  velis , totos  pande  sinus . A 
gentleman  in  our  late  civil  wars,  when  his  quarters 
were  beaten  up  by  the  enemy,  was  taken  prisoner  and 
lost  his  life  afterwards,  only  by  staying  to  put  on 
a band  and  adjust  his  periwig.  He  would  escape 
like  a person  of  quality,  or  not  at  all,  and  died 
the  noble  martyr  of  ceremony  and  gentility.  I 
think  your  counsel  of  festina  lente  is  as  ill  to  a 
man  who  is  flying  from  the  world,  as  it  would 
have  been  to  that  unfortunate  well-bred  gentleman* 


172 


COWLEY'S  ESSAYS. 


who  was  so  cautious  as  not  to  fly  undecently 
from  his  enemies,  and  therefore  I prefer  Horace’s 
advice  before  yours. 

Sapere  aude  ; incipe.  , 

Begin  : the  getting  out  of  doors  is  the  greatest 
part  of  the  journey.  Yarro  teaches  us  that  Latin 
proverb,  Portam  itineri  longissimam  esse . But  t > 
return  to  Horace, 

Sapere  aude  ; 

Incipe . Vivendi  qui  recte  prorogat  horam 
Rusticus  expectat  dum  labitur  amnis  ; at  ille 
Labitur , et  labetur  in  omne  volubilis  cevum. 

Begin,  be  bold,  and  venture  to  be  wise  ; 

He  wbo  defers  the  work  from  day  to  day, 

Does  on  a river’s  bank  expecting  stay, 

Till  the  whole  stream  which  stopped  him  should  be  gone. 
That  runs,  and  as  it  runs,  for  ever  will  run  on. 

Caesar  (the  man  of  expedition  above  all  others) 
was  so  far  from  this  folly,  that  whensoever  in  a 
journey  he  was  to  cross  any  river,  he  never  went 
one  foot  out  of  his  way  for  a bridge,  or  a ford,  or  a 


DANGER  OF  PROCRASTINATION. 


173 


ferry ; but  flung  himself  into  it  immediately,  and 
swam  over  ; and  this  is  the  course  we  ought  to 
imitate  if  we  meet  with  any  stops  in  our  way  to 
happiness.  Stay  till  the  waters  are  low,  stay  till 
some  boats  come  by  to  transport  you,  stay  till  a 
bridge  be  built  for  you ; you  had  even  as  good  stay 
till  the  river  be  quite  past.  Persius  (who,  you 
used  to  say,  you  do  not  know  whether  he  be  a good 
poet  or  no,  because  you  cannot  understand  him, 
and  whom,  therefore,  I say,  I know  to  be  not  a 
good  poet)  has  an  odd  expression  of  these  procras- 
tinations, which,  methinks,  is  full  of  fancy. 

Jam  eras  hesternum  consumjmmus , ecce  aliud  eras 
egerit  Kos  annos . 

Our  yesterday’s  to-morrow  now  is  gone, 

And  still  a new  to-morrow  does  come  on ; 

We  by  to-morrows  draw  up  all  our  store, 

Till  the  exhausted  well  can  yield  no  more. 

And  now,  I think,  I am  even  with  you,  for  your 
otium  cum  dignitate  and  festina  lente , and  three  or 
four  other  more  of  your  new  Latin  sentences  : if  I. 


174 


cowley’s  essays. 


should  draw  upon  you  all  my  forces  out  of  Seneca* 
and  Plutarch  upon  this  subject,  I should  over- 
whelm  you,  but  I leave  those  as  triarii  for  your 
next  charges.  I shall  only  give  you  now  a light 
skirmish  out  of  an  epigrammatist,  your  special 
good  friend,  and  so,  vale. 


Mart.  Lib.  5,  Ep.  59. 

To-morrow  you  will  live,  you  always  cry; 

In  what  far  country  does  this  morrow  lie, 

That  ’tis  so  mighty  long  ere  it  arrive  ? 

Beyond  the  Indies  does  this  morrow  live? 

’Tis  so  far-fetched,  this  morrow,  that  I fear 
’Twill  be  both  very  old  and  very  dear. 
To-morrow  I will  live,  the  fool  does  say ; 

To-day  itself’s  too  late,  the  wise  lived  yesterday* 


Mart.  Lib.  2,  Ep.  90. 
Wonder  not,  sir  (you  who  instruct  the  town 
In  the  true  wisdom  of  the  sacred  gown), 
That  I make  haste  to  live,  and  cannot  hold 


DANGER  OF  PROCRASTINATION. 


175 


Patiently  out,  till  I grow  rich  and  old. 

Life  for  delays  and  doubts  no  time  does  give, 
None  ever  yet  made  haste  enough  to  live. 

Let  him  defer  it,  whose  preposterous  care 
Omits  himself,  and  reaches  to  his  heir, 

Who  does  his  father’s  bounded  stores  despise, 
And  whom  his  own,  too,  never  can  suffice  : 

My  humble  thoughts  no  glittering  roofs  require. 
Or  rooms  that  shine  with  ought  be  constant  fire. 
We  ill  content  the  avarice  of  my  sight 
With  the  fair  gildings  of  reflected  light : 
Pleasures  abroad,  the  sport  of  Nature  yields 
Her  living  fountains,  and  her  smiling  fields  : 
And  then  at  home,  what  pleasure  is ’t  to  see 
A little  cleanly,  cheerful  family  1 
Which  if  a chaste  wife  crown,  no  less  in  her 
Than  fortune,  I the  golden  mean  prefer. 

Too  noble,  nor  too  wise,  she  should  not  be, 

No,  nor  too  rich,  too  fair,  too  fond  of  me. 

Thus  let  my  life  .slide  silently  away, 

With  sleep  all  night,  and  quiet  all  the  day. 


176 


OF  MYSELF. 


It  is  a hard  and  nice  subject  for  a man  to  write  of 
himself ; it  grates  his  own  heart  to  say  anything  of 
disparagement  and  the  reader’s  ears  to  hear  any- 
thing of  praise  for  him.  There  is  no  danger  from 
me  of  offending  him  in  this  kind  ; neither  my  mind, 
nor  my  body,  nor  my  fortune  allow  me  any 
materials  for  that  vanity.  It  is  sufficient  for  my 
own  contentment  that  they  have  preserved  me 
from  being  scandalous,  or  remarkable  on  the  defec- 
tive side.  But  besides  that,  I shall  here  speak  of 
myself  only  in  relation  to  the  subject  of  these 
precedent  discourses,  and  shall  be  likelier  thereby 
to  fall  into  the  contempt  than  rise  up  to  the  esti- 
mation of  most  people.  As  far  as  my  memory  can 
return  back  into  my  past  life,  before  I knew  or 
was  capable  of  guessing  what  the  world,  or  glories, 
or  business  of  it  were,  the  natural  affections  of  my 
soul  gave  me  a secret  bent  of  aversion  from  them, 


OF  MYSELF. 


177 


as  some  plants  are  said  to  turn  away  from  others, 
by  an  antipathy  imperceptible  to  themselves  and 
inscrutable  to  man’s  understanding.  Even  when  I 
was  a very  young  boy  at  school,  instead  of  running 
about  on  holidays  and  playing  with  my  fellows,  I 
was  wont  to  steal  from  them  and  walk  into  the 
fields,  either  alone  with  a book,  or  with  some  one 
companion,  if  I could  find  any  of  the  same  temper. 
I was  then,  too,  so  much  an  enemy  to  all  constraint, 
that  my  masters  could  never  prevail  on  me,  by  any 
persuasions  or  encouragements,  to  learn  without 
book  the  common  rules  of  grammar,  in  which  they 
dispensed  with  me  alone,  because  they  found  I 
made  a shift  to  do  the  usual  exercises  out  of  my 
own  reading  and  observation.  That  I was  then  of 
the  same  mind  as  I am  now  (which  I confess  I 
wonder  at  myself)  may  appear  by  the  latter  end  of 
an  ode  which  I made  when  I was  but  thirteen 
years  old,  and  which  was  then  printed  with  many 
other  verses.  The  beginning  of  it  is  boyish,  but  of 
this  part  which  I here  set  down,  if  a very  little  were 
corrected,  I should  hardly  now  be  much  ashamed. 


178 


COWLEY’S  essays. 


IX. 

This  only  grant  me,  that  my  means  may  lie 
Too  low  for  envy,  for  contempt  too  high. 

Some  honour  I would  have, 

Not  from  great  deeds,  but  good  alone. 

The  unknown  are  better  than  ill  known. 

Rumour  can  ope  the  grave ; 

Acquaintance  I would  have,  but  when  it  depends 
Not  on  the  number,  but  the  choice  of  friends. 

x. 

Books  should,  not  business,  entertain  the  light, 
And  sleep,  as  undisturbed  as  death,  the  night. 

My  house  a cottage,  more 
Than  palace,  and  should  fitting  be 
For  all  my  use,  no  luxury. 

My  garden  painted  o’er 

With  Nature’s  hand,  not  Art’s ; and  pleasures  yield, 
Horace  might  envy  in  his  Sabine  field. 

XI. 

Thus  would  I double  my  life’s  fading  space, 

For  he  that  runs  it  well  twice  runs  his  race. 


OF  MYSELF. 


179 


And  in  this  true  delight, 

These  unbought  sports,  this  happy  state, 

I would  not  fear,  nor  wish  my  fate, 

But  boldly  say  each  night, 

To-morrow  let  my  sun  his  beams  display 
Or  in  clouds  hide  them — I have  lived  to-day. 

You  may  see  by  it  I was  even  then  acquainted 
with  the  poets  (for  the  conclusion  is  taken  out  of 
Horace),  and  perhaps  it  was  the  immature  and 
immoderate  love  of  them  which  stamped  first,  or 
rather  engraved,  these  characters  in  me.  They 
were  like  letters  cut  into  the  bark  of  a young  tree, 
which  with  the  tree  still  grow  proportionably. 
But  how  this  love  came  to  be  produced  in  me  so 
early  is  a hard  question.  I believe  I can  tell  the 
particular  little  chance  that  filled  my  head  first 
with  such  chimes  of  verse  as  have  never  since  left 
ringing  there.  For  I remember  when  I began  to 
read,  and  to  take  some  pleasure  in  it,  there  was 
wont  to  lie  in  my  mother’s  parlour  (I  know*  not  by 
what  accident,  for  she  herself  never  in  her  life  read 


180 


cowley’s  essays. 


any  book  but  of  devotion),  but  there  was  wont  to 
lie  Spenser’s  works ; this  I happened  to  fall  upon, 
and  was  infinitely  delighted  with  the  stories  of  the 
knights,  and  giants,  and  monsters,  and  brave  houses, 
which  I found  everywhere  there  (though  my  under- 
standing had  little  to  do  with  all  this) ; and  by  de- 
grees with  the  tinkling  of  the  rhyme  and  dance  of 
the  numbers,  so  that  I think  I had  read  him  all 
over  before  I was  twelve  years  old,  and  was  thus 
made  a poet  as  immediately  as  a child  is  made  an 
eunuch.  With  these  affections  of  mind,  and  my 
heart  wholly  set  upon  letters,  I went  to  the  uni- 
versity, but  was  soon  torn  from  thence  by  that 
violent  public  storm  which  would  suffer  nothing  to 
stand  where  it  did,  but  rooted  up  every  plant,  even 
from  the  princely  cedars  to  me,  the  hyssop.  Yet  I 
had  as  good  fortune  as  could  have  befallen  me  in 
such  a tempest ; for  I was  cast  by  it  into  the 
family  of  one  of  the  best  persons,  and  into  the 
court  of  one  of  the  best  princesses  of  the  w^orld. 
Now  though  I was  here  engaged  in  ways  most  con- 
trary to  the  original  design  of  my  life,  that  is,  into 


OF  MYSELF. 


181 


much  company,  and  no  small  business,  and  into  a 
daily  sight  of  greatness,  both  militant  and 
triumphant,  for  that  was  the  state  then  of  the 
English  and  French  Courts  ; yet  all  this  was  so  far 
from  altering  my  opinion,  that  it  only  added  the 
confirmation  of  reason  to  that  which  was  before 
but  natural  inclination.  I saw  plainly  all  the 
paint  of  that  kind  of  life,  the  nearer  I came  to  it ; 
and  that  beauty  which  I did  not  fall  in  love  with 
when,  for  aught  I knew,  it  was  real,  was  not  like 
to  bewitch  or  entice  me  when  I saw  that  it  was 
adulterate.  I met  with  several  great  persons, 
whom  I liked  very  well,  but  could  not  perceive 
that  any  part  of  their  greatness  was  to  be  liked  or 
desired,  no  more  than  I would  be  glad  or  content 
to  be  in  a storm,  though  I saw  many  ships  which 
rid  safely  and  bravely  in  it.  A storm  would  not 
agree  with  my  stomach,  if  it  did  with  my  courage. 
Though  I was  in  a crowd  of  as  good  company  as 
could  be  found  anywhere,  though  I was  in  business 
of  great  and  honourable  trust,  though  I ate  at  the 
best  table,  and  enjoyed  the  best  conveniences  for 


182 


cowley’s  essays. 


present  subsistence  that  ought  to  be  desired  by  a 
man  of  my  condition  in  banishment  and  public  dis- 
tresses, yet  I could  not  abstain  from  renewing  my 
old  schoolboy’s  wish  in  a copy  of  verses  to  the 
same  effect. 

Well  then  ; I now  do  plainly  see, 

This  busy  world  and  I shall  ne’er  agree,  etc. 

And  I never  then  proposed  to  myself  any  other 
advantage  from  His  Majesty’s  happy  restoration, 
but  the  getting  into  some  moderately  convenient 
retreat  in  the  country,  which  I thought  in  that 
case  I might  easily  have  compassed,  as  well  as 
some  others,  with  no  greater  probabilities  or  pre- 
tences have  arrived  to  extraordinary  fortunes.  But 
I had  before  written  a shrewd  prophecy  against 
myself,  and  I think  Apollo  inspired  me  in  the 
truth,  though  not  in  the  elegance  of  it. 

Thou,  neither  great  at  court  nor  in  the  war, 

Nor  at  th’  exchange  shalt  be,  nor  at  the  wrangling 
bar  ; 

Content  thyself  with  the  small  barren  praise, 

Which  neglected  verse  does  raise,  etc. 


OF  MYSELF. 


183 


However,  by  the  failing  of  the  forces  which  1 
had  expected,  I did  not  quit  the  design  which  I 
had  resolved  on  ; I cast  myself  into  it  A corps  perdu, 
without  making  capitulations  or  taking  counsel  of 
fortune.  But  God  laughs  at  a man  who  says  to 
his  soul,  “ Take  thy  ease  ” : I met  presently  not 
only  with  many  little  encumbrances  and  impedi- 
ment^, but  with  so  much  sickness  (a  new  misfortune 
to  me)  as  would  have  spoiled  the  happiness  of  an 
emperor  as  well  as  mine.  Yet  I do  neither  repent 
nor  alter  my  course.  Non  ego  perfidum  dixi  sacra - 
mentum,  Nothing  shall  separate  me  from  a mistress 
which  I have  loved  so  long,  and  have  now  at  last 
married,  though  she  neither  has  brought  me  a rich 
portion,  nor  lived  yet  so  quietly  with  me  as  I hoped 
from  her. 

Nec  vos , dulcissima  mundi 

JVomina,  vos  Musce , libertas , otiay  libri , 

Hortique  sylvceque  anima  remanente  relinquam . 


Nor  by  me  e’er  shall  you, 

You  of  all  names  the  sweetest,  and  the  best, 


184 


cowley’s  essays. 


You  Muses,  books,  and  liberty,  and  rest ; 

You  gardens,  fields,  and  woods  forsaken  be, 

As  long  as  life  itself  forsakes  not  me. 

But  this  is  a very  petty  ejaculation.  Because  I 
have  concluded  all  the  other  chapters  with  a copy 
of  verses,  I will  maintain  the  humour  to  the  last. 

Martial,  Lib.  10,  Ep.  47. 

Vitam  quae  faciunt  beatiorem , etc. 

Since,  dearest  friend,  ’tis  your  desire  to  see 
A true  receipt  of  happiness  from  me ; 

These  are  the  chief  ingredients,  if  not  all : 

Take  an  estate  neither  too  great  nor  small, 

Which  quantum  sufficit  the  doctors  call; 

Let  this  estate  from  parents’  care  descend: 

The  getting  it  too  much  of  life  does  spend. 

Take  such  a ground,  whose  gratitude  may  be 
A fair  encouragement  for  industry. 

Let  constant  fires  the  winter’s  fury  tame, 

And  let  thy  kitchens  be  a vestal  flame. 

Thee  to  the  town  let  never  suit  at  law, 


OF  MYSELF. 


185 


And  rarely,  very  rarely,  business  draw. 

Thy  active  mind  in  equal  temper  keep, 

In  undisturbed  peace,  yet  not  in  sleep. 

Let  exercise  a vigorous  health  maintain, 

Without  which  all  the  composition’s  vain. 

In  the  same  weight  prudence  and  innocence  take 
Ana  of  each  does  the  just  mixture  make. 

But  a few  friendships  wear,  and  let  them  be 
By  Nature  and  by  Fortune  fit  for  thee. 

Instead  of  art  and  luxury  in  food, 

Let  mirth  and  freedom  make  thy  table  good. 

If  any  cares  into  thy  daytime  creep, 

At  night,  without  wines,  opium,  let  them  sleep. 

Let  rest,  which  Nature  does  to  darkness  wed, 

And  not  lust,  recommend  to  thee  thy  bed, 

Be  satisfied,  and  pleased  with  what  thou  art ; 

Act  cheerfully  and  well  the  allotted  part. 

Enjoy  the  present  hour,  be  thankful  for  the  past, 
And  neither  fear,  nor  wish  the  approaches  of  the 
last. 


186 


cowley’s  essays. 


Martial,  Lib.  10.  Ep.  96. 

Me,  who  have  lived  so  long  among  the  great* 
You  wonder  to  hear  talk  of  a retreat  :i 
And  a retreat  so  distant,  as  may  show 
No  thoughts  of  a return  when  once  I go. 

Give  me  a country,  how  remote  so  e’er, 

Where  happiness  a moderate  rate  does  bear, 
Where  poverty  itself  in  plenty  flows 
And  all  the  solid  use  of  riches  knows. 

The  ground  about  the  house  maintains  it  there, 
The  house  maintains  the  ground  about  it  here. 
Here  even  hunger’s  dear,  and  a full  board 
Devours  the  vital  substance  of  the  lord. 

The  land  itself  does  there  the  feast  bestow, 

The  land  itself  must  here  to  market  go. 

Three  or  four  suits  one  winter  here  does  waste, 
One  suit  does  there  three  or  four  winters  last. 
Here  every  frugal  man  must  oft  be  cold, 

And  little  lukewarm  fires  are  to  you  sold. 


OF  MYSELF. 


187 


There  fire’s  an  element  as  cheap  and  free 
Almost  as  any  of  the  other  three. 

Stay  you  then  here,  and  live  among  the  great, 
Attend  their  sports,  and  at  their  tables  eat. 
When  all  the  bounties  here  of  men  you  score  : 
The  Place’s  bounty  there,  shall  give  me  more. 


cowley’s  essays. 


EPITAPHIUM  YIYI  AUCTORIS. 


Hie , 0 viator , sub  Lare  parvulo 
Couleius  hie  est  conditus , ; 

Defunctus  humani  labor  is 
JSorte,  supervacuaque  vita . 

Yon  indecora  pauperie  nitens , 

Et  non  inert!  nobilis  otio, 

Vanoque  dilectis  popello 
Divitiis  animosus  hostis. 

Possis  ut  ilium  dicer e mortuum, 

En  terra  jam  nunc  quantula  sufficOt  l 
Exempta  sit  cur  is  y viator  ; 

Terra  sit  ilia  levisf  precare. 

Hie  sparge  flores,  sparge  breves  rosas, 
Nam  vita  gaudet  mortua  Jloribus , 
Herbisque  odoratis  corona 

Vatis  adhuc  cinerem  calentem. 


EPITAPH  OP  THE  LIVING  AUTHOR. 


189 


[Translation!] 

EPITAPH  OP  THE  LIYING-  AUTHOR. 


O wayfarer,  beneath  his  household  shrine 
Here  Cowley  lies,  closed  in  a little  den ; 

A life  too  empty  and  his  lot  combine 

To  give  him  rest  from  all  the  toils  of  men. 

Not  shining  with  unseemly  shows  of  want, 

Nor  noble  with  the  indolence  of  ease; 

Pearless  of  spirit  as  a combatant 

With  mob-loved  wealth  and  all  its  devotees. 

That  you  may  fairly  speak  of  him  as  dead, 

Behold  how  little  earth  contents  him  now  ! 

Pray,  wayfarer,  that  all  his  cares  be  fled, 

And  that  the  earth  lie  lightly  on  his  brow. 

Strew  flowers  here,  strew  roses  soon  to  perish, 

Por  the  dead  life  joys  in  all  flowers  that  blow ; 

Crown  with  sweet  herbs,  bank  blossoms  high,  to  cherish 
The  poet’s  ashes  that  are  yet  aglow. 


Henry  Morley. 


cowley’s  essay?. 


190 


A FEW  NOTES. 


Page  15.  Fertur  equis , &c.  From  the  close  of  Virgil’s  first  Georgic : 
said  of  horses  in  a chariot  race, 

Nor  reins,  nor  curbs,  nor  threatening  cries  they  fear, 
But  force  along  the  trembling  charioteer. 

Dryden’s  translation. 

,,  16.  En  Romanos , &c.  Virgil,  iEneid  I.,  when  Jove  says, 

The  people  Romans  call,  the  city  Rome, 

To  them  no  bounds  of  empire  I assign. 

Nor  term  of  years  to  their  immortal  line. 

Dryden’s  Virgil. 

w 18.  “ Laveer  with  every  wind."  Laveer  is  an  old  sea  term  for 
working  the  ship  against  the  wind.  Lord  Clarendon  used 
its  noun,  “the  schoolmen  are  the  best  laveerers  in  the 
world,  and  would  have  taught  a ship  to  catch  the  wind 
that  it  should  have  gained  half  and  half,  though  it  had 
been  contrary.” 

#f  24.  Amatorem  trecentce  Pirithoum  cohibent  catence.  Horace’s  Ode, 
Bk.  IV.,  end  of  ode  4.  Three  hundred  chains  bind  the 
lover,  Pirithous : 

Wrath  waits  on  sin,  three  hundred  chains 
Pirithous  bind  in  endless  pains.  Creech’s  Translation. 

„ 25.  Aliena  negotia , &c.  From  Horace’s  Satires,  sixth  of  Book  II. 

„ 25.  Dors,  cockchafers. 

„ 26.  Pan  huper  sebastos  Lord  over  All 

?,  27.  Perditur  hcec  inter  misero  Lux.  Horace,  Satires,  II.,  6.  This 
whole  Satire  is  in  harmony  with  the  spirit  of  Cowley’s 
Essays. 

„ 29.  A slave  in  Saturnalibus.  In  the  Saturnalia,  when  Roman 
slaves  had  licence  to  disport  themselves. 

„ 29.  Unciatim,  &c.  Terence’s  Phornaio,  Act  I.,  scene  1,  in  the 
opening  : “All  that  this  poor  fellow  has,  by  starving  him- 
self, bit  by  bit,  with  much  ado,  scraped  together  out  of  his 
pitiful  allowance— (must  go  at  one  swoop,  people  never 
considering  the  price  it  cost  him  the  getting).”  Eachard’s 
Terence. 


NOTES. 


191 


Page  30.  'KaicdOripCa,  &c.  Paul  to  Titus,  “The  Cretans  are  always 
liars,  evil  beasts,  slow  bellies.” 

,,  31.  Quisnam  igitur,  &c.  Horace’s  Satires,  II.,  7.  “ Who  then  is 

free?  The  wise  man,  who  has  absolute  rule  over  himself.” 

„ 81.  Oenomaus,  father  of  Hippodameia,  would  give  her  only  to 
the  suitor  who  could  overcome  him  in  a chariot  race. 
Suitors  whom  he  could  overtake  he  killed.  He  killed  him 
self  when  outstripped  by  Pelops,  whom  a god  assisted,  or 
according  to  one  version,  a man  who  took  the  nails  out  of 
Oenomaus’  chariot  wheels,  and  brought  him  down  with  a 
crash. 

#,  45.  Nunquam  minus  solus  quam  cum  solus.  Never  less  alone  than 
when  alone. 

„ 47.  Sic  ego,  &c.  ’ From  Tibullus,  IV.,  13. 

„ 51.  0 quis  me  gelidis , &c.  From  the  Second  Book  of  Virgil’s 
Georgies,  in  a passage  expressing  the  poet’s  wish : 

Ye  sacred  Muses,  with  whose  beauty  fired, 

My  soul  is  ravished  and  my  brain  inspired ; 

Whose  priest  I am,  whose  holy  fillets  wear, 

Would  you  your  poet’s  first  petition  hear  : 

Give  me  the  ways  of  wandering  stars  to  know  ; 

The  depths  of  Heaven  above,  and  Earth  below ; 

Teach  me,  &c.  . . . 


But  if  my  heavy  blood  restrain  the  flight 
Of  my  free  soul  aspiring  to  the  height 
Of  Nature,  and  unclouded  fields  of  light : 

My  next  desire  is,  void  of  care  and  strife, 

To  lead  a soft,  secure,  inglorious  life. 

A country  cottage  near  a crystal  flood, 

A winding  valley  and  a lofty  wood  ; 

Some  god  conduct  me  to  the  sacred  shades 
Where  bacchanals  are  sung  by  Spartan  maids, 

Or  lift  me  high  to  Haemus  hilly  crown, 

Or  in  the  vales  of  Temp6  lay  me  down, 

Or  lead  me  to  some  solitary  place, 

And  cover  my  retreat  from  human  race. 

Dryden’s  translation . 

H 50.  Nam  neque  divitibus.  Horace’s  Epistles,  I.,  18. 


COWLEY  S ESSAYS. 


Page  58.  Tanlcerwoman,  “water-bearer,  one  who  carried  water  from 

the  conduits.” 

„ 60.  Bucephalus,  the  horse  of  Alexander.  Domitian  is  said  to 
have  given  a consulship  to  h s horse  Incitatus. 

„ 60.  The  glory  of  Cato  and  Aristides.  See  the  parallel  lives  in 
Plutarch. 


64.  0 fortunatos  nimium,  &c. 
knew  their  good. 


„ 70. 
Page  75. 


75. 

76. 


80. 


81. 


92. 


100. 


105. 


Men  all  too  happy,  and  they 


Hinc  atgue  hinc.  From  Virgil’s  iEneid,  Book  I. 

Mr.  Hartlib.  ...  if  the  gentleman  he.  yet  alive.  Samue . 
Hartlib,  a public -spirited  man  of  a rich  Polish  family,, 
came  to  England  in  1640.  He  interested  himself  in  educa- 
tion and  other  subjects,  as  well  as  agriculture.  In  1645 
he  edited  a treatise  of  Flemish  Agriculture  that  added 
greatly  to  the  knowledge  of  English  farmers,  and  thereby 
to  the  wealth  of  England.  He  spent  a large  fortune 
among  us  for  the  public  good.  Cromwell  recognised  his. 
services  by  a pension  of  £300  a year,  which  ceased  at  the 
Restoration,  and  Hartlib  then  fell  into  such  obscurity 
that  Cowley  could  not  say  whether  he  were  alive  or  no. 

Nescio  qua,  &c.  Ovid.  Epistles  from  Pontus. 

Pariter,  &c.  Ovid’s  Fasti,  Book  I.  Referring  to  the  happy 
souls  who  first  looked  up  to  the  stars,  Ovid  suggests  that 
in  like  manner  they  must  have  lifted  their  heads  above 
the  vices  and  the  jests  of  man.  Cowley  has  here  turned 
“locis”  into  “jocis.” 

Ut  nos  in  Epistolis  scribendis  adjuvet.  That  he  might  help 
us  in  writing  letters. 

Q'ui  quid  sit  pulchrum,  &c.  Who  tells  more  fully  than 
Chrysippus  or  Crantor  what  is  fair  what  is  foul,  what 
useful  and  what  not. 

Swerd  of  bacon,  skin  of  bacon.  First  English  sweard.  So 
green  sward  is  green  surface*  covering. 

The  Country  Life  is  a translation  from  Cowley’s  own  Latin 
Poem  on  Plants. 

Evelyn  had  dedicated  to  Cowley  his  Kalendarium  Hortense. 


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Man 

Cicero Old  Age  and  Friendship 

Coleridge,  S.  T Confession  of  an  Enquiring  Spirit, 

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“ The  Task,  etc 

Crabbe,  George Poems 


124 

i47 

211 

172 

195 

48 

27 

187 

2or 

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Counties  of  England,  1772 141 

“ From  London  to  Land’s  End 149 

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English  Mail  Coach 69 

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“ “ The  Battle  of  Life 157E 

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Ghost’s  Bargain 210 

Dodd,  Anna  Bowman The  Republic  of  the  Future 109 

Dryden,  John Poems 98 

“ “ Discourse  on  Satire  and  Epic 

Poetry 151 


Edgeworth,  Maria Murad  the  Unlucky,  and  Other 

Tales 198 

Fenelon The  Existence  of  God 137 

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Good  Natured  Man 11 

Gonzales,  Don  Manuel. . . .London  in  1731 114 

Gordon-Duff,  Lady The  Amber 'Witch.  Translated 

from  the  German  by 153 

Hakluyt,  Richard Voyagers’  Tales 24 

“ “ The  North-West  Passage 32 

**  The  Discovery  of  Muscovy. 177 

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Herodotus Egypt  and  Scythia. 22 

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York 77  & 78 

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England  115 

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ler, Milton,  Cowley). 7 18 

“ Lives  of  the  English  Poets  (Butler, 

Denham,  Dryden,  etc  ) 36 

*'*  Lives  of  the  English  Poets  (Ad- 
dison, Savage,  and  Swift) 133 

“ Lives  of  the  English  Poets  (Prior, 

Congreve,  Blackmore,  and  Pope)  159 

“ Lives  of  the  English  Poets  (Gay, 

Thomson,  Young,  Gray,  etc.)..  166 

“ A Journey  to  the  Western  Islands 

' of  Scotland 50 

“ Rasselas... 191 

Jonson,  Ben Discoveries  made  upon  Men  and 

Matter 169 

Keats,  John Endymion,  and  other  Poems 91 

Keble,  John The  Christian  Year 52 

Knowles,  James  SheridanThe  Hunchback,  and  The  Love 

Chase 55 

Landor,  W.  S Gebir,  and  Count  Julian 64 

Latimer,  Bishop Sermons  on  the  Card 7 

Lessing Nathan  the  Wise 37 

Lewis,  M.  G The  Bravo  of  Venice 43 

Lobo,  Jerome Voyage  to  Abyssinia 92 

Locke,  John Of  Civil  Government,  etc 207 

Lodge,  Thomas Rosalind 62 

Lucian Trips  to  the  Moon 71 

Luther,  Martin Table  Talk 15 

Lyttleton,  Lord Dialogues  of  the  Dead 190 

Macaulay,  Lord Warren  Hastings 90 

“ “ Francis  Bacon 17 

“ “ Lays  of  Ancient  Rome 58 

“ “ The  Lari  of  Chatham  65 

“ “ Burleigh  and  His  Times,  John 

. Hampden,  and  Horace  Walpole  161 

Mackenzie,  Henry The  Man  of  Feeling 5 

Malcolm,  Sir  John Sketches  of  Persia.  Vol.  1 117 

“ “ “ “ “ Vol.  II 129 


ORDER  KV  NUMBERS, 


5 


Marco  Polo Voyages  and  Travels 29 

Maundeville,  Sir  J Voyages  and  Travels 10 

Milton,  John Earlier  Poems 34 

“ “ Areopagitica,  Letter  on  Educa- 
tion, Sonnets  and  Psalms 123 

**  “ Paradise  Lost 162  & 163 

**  “ .Paradise  Regained,  and  Samson 

Agonistes 180 

More,  Sir  Thomas Utopia.. 182 

Moritz,  C.  P.  ...  Travels  in  England  in  1782 46 


Palgrave,  F.  T The  Visions  of  England 193 

Park,  Mungo Travels  in  the  Interior  of  Africa. 83  & 84 

Parry,  Capt.  W.  E Third  Voyage  for  the  Discovery 

of  a North-West  Passage 183 

Patmore,  Coventry The  Angel  in  the  House 68 

“ “ The  Victories  of  Love 127 

Peacock,  Thomas  Love. . .Crotchet  Castle 56 

Pepys,  Samuel Diary,  1660-1661 33 

1662- 1663 42 

1663- 1664 60 

1664- 1665 74 

Jan.  to  Oct.,  1666 86 

Nov.  1,  1666,  to  May  31, 

1667 95 

June  to  Oct.,  1667 103 

Oct.,  1667,  to  March,  1668.  113 

March  17  to  Nov.  14,  1668.  121 

From  Nov.,  1668,  to  May  ) 

31,  1669  (Concluding  > 130 

Vol.  of  Pepys’  Diary)  ) 

Petty,  Sir  William Essays  on  Mankind  and  Political 

Arithmetic 145 

Pinkerton,  John Early  Australian  Voyages 40 

Piozzi,  Hester  L Anecdotes  of  Samuel  Johnson, 

LL.  D 106 

Plato Crito  and  Phaedo 126 

Plutarch Lives  of  Alexander  and  Caesar 8 

Alcibiades,  Coriolanus, 

etc h6 

Agesilaus,  Pompey,  and 

Phocion 100 

Cato  the  Younger,  Agis, 

etc.... 72 

Demetrius,  Mark  An- 
tony, etc 44 

Dion,  Brutus,  Artax- 

erxes,  etc 140 

Nicias,  Crassus,  Aratus, 

etc 148 

Numa,  Sertorius,  Eu- 

menes 156 

Pericles,  Fabius  Max- 
imus, Demosthenes,  and 
Cicero 57 


6 


ORDER  Ef  NEMRERS, 


Plutarch 


Pope,  Alexander. 

4 4 4 4 


Raleigh,  Sir  Walter. . 
Reeve,  Mrs.  Clara — 
Reynolds,  Sir  Joshua 

Scott,  Sir  Walter 

4 4 4 4 

Selden,  John 

Shakespeare 


Lives  of  Pyrrhus,  Camillus,  Pelop- 

idas,  and  Marcellus  ....  131 

, “ Romulus,  Cimon,  Lucul- 

lus,  and  Lycurgus 152 

“ Solon,  Publicola,  etc 107 

“ Timoleon,  Paulus  A£mil- 

ius,  Lysander,  and  Sylla  89 

Earlier  Poems 41 

,An  Essay  on  Man,  and  Other 
Poems 75 


,The  Discovery  of  Guiana,  etc 66 

The  Old  English  Baron 129 

Seven  Discourses  on  Art in 


.The  Lady  of  the  Lake 

, Marmion 

Table  Talk 

All’s  Well  that  Ends  Well 

, Antony  and  Cleopatra 

A Midsummer  Night’s  Dream.... 

As  You  Like  It 

Comedy  of  Errors 

Coriolanus. . .. 

Cymbeline 

Hamlet 

Julius  Caesar 

King  Henry  IV.  CPart  I.). 

“ (Part  II.) 

King  Henry  V 

King  Henry  VI.  (Part  I.) 

“ (Part  II.) 

“ “ (PartHI.) 

King  Henry  VIII 

King  John 

King  Lear 

King  Richard  II 

King  Richard  III 

Love’s  Labor’s  Lost. 

Macbeth 

Measure  for  Measure  

Much  Ado  About  Nothing 

Othello. 

Pericles 

Romeo  and  Juliet 

The  Merchant  of  Venice 

The  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor. . . . 

The  Taming  of  the  Shrew 

The  Tempest 

The  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona  .. 

The  Winter’s  Tale 

Timon  of  Athens 

Titus  Andronicus. 

Troilus  and  Cressida 

.Twelfth  Night 


14 

136 

102 

208 

178 


79 

& 

164 

122 

154 

23 

73 

128 


*34 

142 

189 

192 

96 

no 

125 

196 

181 


39 

205 
116 
160 

206 

150 

3° 

13l 

146 

61 


174 

101 

158A 

202 

170 

199 


ORDER  BY  NUMBERS, 


7 


Shelley,  Percy  B The  Banquet  of  Plato,  and  Other 

Pieces 

“ “ Prometheus  Unbound,  and  Other 

Pieces 

Sheridan,  R.  B The  Rivals,  and  The  School  for 

Scandal 

Sidney,  Sir  Philip A Defense  of  Poesie 

Silvio  Pellico My  Ten  Years’  Imprisonment. . . . 

Smith,  Sydney Peter  Plymley’s  Letters,  etc 

Southey,  Robert Colloquies  on  Society 

“ “ The  Curse  of  Kehama 

“ “ Life  of  Nelson 

Spenser,  Edmund The  Shepherd’s  Calendar 

“ Complaints 

“ Daphnaida,  and  Other  Poems. . . . 

Steele  and  Addison Sir  Roger  de  Coverley,  and  The 

- Spectator’s  Club 

“ Isaac  Bickerstaff 

Steele,  Richard Essays  and  Tales 

Swift,  Jonathan The  Battle  of  the  Books,  etc 


80 

108 

6 ■ 
194 
x 
45 
99 
144 

213 

118 

143 

197 

28 

63 

135 

20 


Taylor,  Jeremy Holy  Living (Vols.  I.  and  II.)  155  & 157A 

“ “ Holy  Dying  (Vols.  I.  and  II.)  167  & 16S 

Voltaire Letters  on  England 171 

Walpole,  Horace The  Castle  of  Otranto 9 

Walton,  Isaac The  Complete  Angler 4 

Waterton,  Charles Wandering  in  South  America  ... . 53 

White,  Rev.  G The  Natural  History  of  Selborne. 

Vol.  1 67 

“ The  Natural  History  of  Selborne. 

Vol.  II 70 

Wollstonecraft,  Mary Letters  on  Sweden,  Norway,  and 

Denmark 188 

Woolner,  Thomas,  R.  A.. My  Beautiful  Lady 82 

Wordsworth,  William. . . .Selected  Poems  from 214 


Xenophon  

Young,  Arthur, 


Memorable  Thoughts  of  Socrates.  158a 
1 A Tour  in  Ireland,  1776-1779 76 


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